Some days I feel like I'm living in a shiny, new coin way. Heads or tails. Flip me. Lucky penny. Lucky to know me. Two cents worth from my opinionated mouth. Mint.
Other days are more like older days. The constantly rubbed coin in a pocket, face worn from worry. Checking my value. Circulated.
Either way, I have to spend the days. Spend wisely. Spend foolishly. But there's no saving them. Charge.
7 comments:
I love this analogy, and it's good to hear your voice.
Change can be good. Especially when the change adds up and next thing you know, you got a miracle.
Susan, funny you should say that. Figuratively I feel like I've lost my voice. I don't even talk to myself lately which is my most favorite, neurotic thing to do. Well, besides create my own bad reality out of quiet. But that's another story. Either I'm too tired to talk or I'm sick of myself. Either way. Sigh.
Maleah
Dawn, I have to confess that I am just not used to change, nor have I ever been overly fond of it. But right now, change is good. It's hard to do, it's uncomfortable, but it's good. Miracles, I have seen a few of those lately, too. The small everyday kind that really make the difference. The kind that make me smile. Thanks for reminding me when I'm in such a "blech" mood.
Maleah
Yeah, I know, I hear you. I left work early today and did nothing. Did not take advantage of the beautiful afternoon, failed to complete any necessary tasks...I just left because I couldn't be there anymore. Tomorrow I will go back.
So I'm going to post in this comment something that I wrote to a good friend this morning...maybe for just a moment your comment section is my blog because I'm having more of a problem writing in a public forum these days but still can't seem to truly write for myself. Maybe this weekend...
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I think that maybe I miss writing every morning, too. I thought I would. I thought for the first time I would be able to just write for myself and started off with about 1500 words the first day, but then the desire waned and it seemed less important. It's weird. I feel like I'm in some type of limbo, sort of unsatisfied...just going through the motions. Slater leaves Friday night for the Boy Scout camporee, and I'm excited about having the house to myself and doing all of those things that a woman can do when she's truly alone in her home. Of course, I daydream about cleaning, getting into a room and submersing myself in it's chaos. The guest room. When I first moved into this house nearly ten years ago it was the room that I spent my first night. A mattress on the floor. Slater was at his grandmother's, and I had spent the day with a couple of friends piling all my stuff into the rooms. I almost froze to death that night and, like now, wondered what the hell I was doing here. The next morning I looked out the window above my head and found that it was cracked. The cold November night had seeped into the room and I had fallen victim to it. Allowing it to interrupt my sleep, affect my mood, drawing me further and further underneath the covers, rolled up in a ball. I keep waiting for something to click, something to feel right and don't know how to make that happen. It's almost like I've fallen victim to the discomfort again. I don't want to be around people at times but then am always reaching out to feel better and then recoiling again. It's not angst. It's not unhappiness. It's just discomfort, and it's almost even too real for that word. Strange, huh.
Anyway, by all eye witness accounts Slater and I are just fabulous. They say my heart is of gold. And I wonder what exactly they could mean by that.
Susan, it is so strange and your timing is impeccable, but you posted just the thing. Just the thing. Not for me, necessarily, but for me to understand... "The cold ... had seeped into the room and I had fallen victim to it. Allowing it to interrupt my sleep, affect my mood, drawing me further and further underneath the covers, rolled up in a ball. I keep waiting for something to click, something to feel right and don't know hwo to make that happen. It's almost like I've fallen victim to the discomfort again. I don't want to be around people at times but then am always reaching out to feel better and then recoiling again. It's not angst. It's not unhappiness. It's just discomfort, and it's almost even too real for that word."
Thank you. For opening my eyes. In just the right way for my friend who is under a blanket. And I want so much to pull it off. But how cruel to pull off a blanket when someone is cold. They crawl out when it gets hard to breathe under there. Or the room seems warmer. Whichever comes first.
Post here anytime.
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