Felix Culpa

I'm falling. The ground is wet and muddy. I can't stop the fall, only experience it as it happens. This is a slow motion catastrophe of my own making. I most fear the dirt. No, the hard ground. I know it will hurt. Then I will feel shame. I don't want to fall. But I want it to end so falling might be ok. That will be the end. No, the fall will be the beginning. The beginning of a series of events predicated on a single mistake. No, not events. There will be one event with endless consequences, some foreseen, some completely unknowable no matter how hard I try to dig them up and extract them. I know I will work really hard to forget, make it all go away. Good news! I haven't even fallen yet. This is the time in which I'm marking the fall. I'm working this fall out right now. In fact, it's always happening. In fact, it already happened.
If only I could get ahead of it. Not the falling. Not the fact of the fall. The feeling of dirtiness. The ground, so hard and unforgiving. The smack on my body and the shock of pain. I can feel my feelings. I'm pretty sure this is normal. That I am normal. What's the term? Mea culpa. No. "Felix Culpa." The wrong from which all life springs. Or, a place to have dinner at in Dallas, Texas. Felix Culpa Restaurant. A scenester fantasy, a loungey spot. A haven. Oh, Happy Fall!