Okay, yes, the next holiday after Spring Break. My life must be really that busy I can’t even write a line a day.
Some questions to myself, Did I really sob when XXXXX died on the Grey’s Anatomy finale? Did XX really scream at me, say she’s going to call the police on me, and then walk off as I was dismissing the rest of my sweet second graders?
All I know is I’m going camping for the next three days, and that sounds very soothing for my spirit.
Last day of Spring Break. There is a scratchy piece of cardboard on the back of my throat, and this bed feels so comfy. I want to feel release, I want to enjoy that bowl of udon at dinner, and the way the light falls in this room, and I want to let go of all that I cannot control. Which is a lot. But I just want to feel like I can make an impact, that matters. I also want to let go of that.
I have many wants.
It is good to walk those carpeted stairs, and sit by the windows that stretch from floor to the lofty ceiling, surrounded by all these books. A solace in a hometown.
It is better to find old friends, meet their loves, and realize that these are bonds you cannot shake with time.
Who is Xiao Long? And who would buy me The Hunger Games? I am so confused and so thrilled. (!!!)
What if the world was overrun with zombies? What is this being infected? What does it say? All lofty wonderings for doomsday entertainment.
Ain’t gonna lie, I love Rue. That girl made of all things sweet and redeeming, sobering and necessary.
What makes someone not give up? What is that ingrained thing? Why those hot tears? Why that awful trail the eraser leaves, making the paper thin with frustration?
