Frogs on your face and your toes and clinging all over you with their sticky little feet.

For sports and games and arts and idleness and leisure. For complication.

For people who define themselves in many ways, or perhaps not at all. For growing tendons. For healing wounds. For glitter nail polish. For cell phone reception.

For resisting but also giving in. For being master of your own destiny, for being in the playoffs, for being the underdog. For learning. For generosity. For experts and specialists.

For one baby step at a time. For print and for web. For all the time in the world. For foam rubber pillows and nicknames and things I don't understand. For Dana Scully and for Fox Mulder's sunflower seed habit. For hexagons.

For people doing good work. For working for free. But more for working for pay or love or something else. For the way rules don't really apply. For rotation & bicycle wheels. For Julyen Hamilton. For old photographs. For small town bars and for jukeboxes.

For long walks. For short, uneven walks. For calluses. For resting because you think you might need it, not because you know you need it. For love, which is forever, and everywhere. For yes. Yes for yes. 

For selling out big time. For poetry and Brian Eno and how they fit or don't. For snowflakes and CSS and cicadas. For my parents. For being brave enough to write down the whole sentence even if you know where it's going to end, and for being brave enough to let that sentence die even if you went to all the work of finishing it. 

For remembering that almost everyone is exactly like you, and almost no one is exactly like you.