I've looked at life from both sides now, from win and lose and still somehow...
I'm in a funk. Said funk can be attributed to any number of mundane or not-so-mundane things. Lea has lost her first two teeth, for example, a happening which spun her briefly into an existential crisis. For me, it's another indicator that I have no more babies. And dammit, I didn't know I liked 'em so much until now.
Also, I was thinking that I can't write. That my writing, I mean, is whoa-nelly-bad. This feeling eased up when I sent some stories to Cecilia for consideration in her anthology. Whether or not she decides they fit with the project, I realized that my writing is not whoa-nelly-bad. It's kind of whoa-nelly-that's-not-too-terribly-bad. But, still. The whole episode has left residual funk in my funk drawer.
And then there's the fact that all the little squares on my calendar are filling up with distinctly non-thrilling (non)events, resulting in an acute case of claustrophobia.
Date night, where art thou? What with the last two weekends at the lake and the next two claimed by the aforementioned calendar squares, we'll be well into September before I can discover the fate of one Jason Bourne. I see now that the benefits of a lobster roll (no, seriously, this Old Port Lobster Shack joint in Redwood City of all places, serves a c-r-a-z-y lobster roll) and a movie with the spousal unit on a Friday night is kinda like...magic.
Wave if you see me. I'll be the woman sitting on the curb, reading a book, and waiting for my Big Yellow Taxi.