The fabric of our lives. No, I’m not talking about cotton… necessarily. But metaphorically we are weavers of the fabric we call our life. All these patchworks of being come together to create an existence of our conscious universe. Sometimes my thoughts get so stiff and rigid like dried mud on denim that I need to wash the crap out. I think I need some fabric softener. Not the dryer sheets, but the liquid kind that gets swished around in the rinse. That way I can hang it outside on the line and let the wind blow through my hair…