Hello, dear – here we are together again, a sleepy pair as usual. I can type with my eyes closed, but staying awake until the end of the sentence is more of a challenge. You think I am kidding? You know I am not kidding. I have my eyes closed right now. Hmmm…heaven.
Don’t ask about today, honey, and don’t let anyone tell you that washing your hands is some kind of doorway to mindfulness. Washing your hands every time you touch a light switch or the refrigerator is Boring. Boring Boring Boring.
We can talk about the birds arguing all day outside my window, breaking up the cold sunshine with their bickering. “Who’s got the best branch in the arbor vitae?” “Get away from my seed stash!” “Hey, did you see that cute new chick? She’s mine!” Or about how the Frankenboot hurts sometimes. I guess a broken ankle isn’t a walk in the park. Wait, that sounds good…a walk in the park. We’ll do that this weekend, dear, Frankenboot and all. Maybe they’ll have new flowers in kaleidoscope planters at Olbrich Gardens. It’s so fun to watch the shapes collide and transform into unrepeatable patterns.
Did I mention I’m sick of washing my hands?
If you were here, I think you would say something to burst my bubble and make me laugh. Because you were always so unimpressed with me, sometimes you cracked me up like popcorn going off. I wish I knew what that little something was, but I’m laughing right now, and I don’t even know what you said.
I’m avoiding philosophical talk about the monster inching closer and closer to us, engulfing everyone in its gravity like a black hole. We know with complete certainty not everyone will make it through. I really don’t want philosophy. This doesn’t feel like an opportunity to me. I want to go see the people I love and squeeze them closer. I want to lick my fingers after I wipe spilled cream from the side of my cup. And I don’t want anyone to be sick. I can learn to pay attention to my life some other way.
How often did he say, “I’ll let you know when it’s time to worry, honey?” The joke is, it was never time. Worry never helps. But I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Well, darlin – I guess my little kettle needed to let off some steam. We’ll talk tomorrow night. I love you, honey.