[I’m writing this outside at Bainbridge Bakers, and a sparrow keeps hopping up on the chair next to me as he looks around. You’re a bird, wouldn’t a tree be a better lookout? But it’s as if a companion joined me for tea drinking, so I won’t complain
I’m in a mood.
And my brain keeps arguing with me. You should be happy. You should be relieved. Not bummed out, you freaking idiot.
My brain is kinda mean. Is yours?
My play was performed.
My kid turned nine.
And I didn’t even have a mimosa this year. That tells you something.
But I also know that while I can get busier and distract myself by plunging into something new, those blues will still be sitting there in the chair next to me, softly chirping, until I have a conversation
or twelve with them.
Like running awhile…and then walking. Thinking of other things…and then listening.
And like everything else, I know it will naturally change and be replaced by something else
eventually, I promise, Hubs!.
[By the time I’ve finished this blog post, the bird has hopped away and a person has asked to sit in the chair for some sun, next to me but turned away. Another companion, except we’re parallel sitting. My husband would strike up a conversation. Not me. But I’ll sit by her and feel less lonely, shifting a bit already.]