I negotiated the city twice today. Downtown at the docks, a baby exchange. And a verbal exchange with my mother that left me with the rage. My first instinct was just to try and shake it off, shelve it to come back and nurse later, cold comfort reheated with a side of telling it like it is. But I couldn't. My second approach, interestingly enough, was to think about getting a coffee. And, let's be honest perhaps a sweet slice of some sort. I had to snap myself out of a reverie of sugar and force myself to sit with the discomfort, the itchy irritation that I was feeling. How unpleasant. And yet not fatal.
Second navigation: rush hour and mother in tow. Slightly more civil terms were being carefully negotiated, a verbal dancing around any possible reignition. Your birthday's coming up, the painter did a crap job, I really do love a nice warm skivvy, etc etc. These are the words to fill the space of what we are not talking about.