I am sitting looking out the window open in front of me. I have a glass of wine, a very rare occasion. I have no pad nor pen or preconceived notion of what I am may share or what I may not. I hope you do not either.
Palm trees sway in the wind, the sun shines cars drive by, children play the games of my youth and I am jealous. I want to play too.
What I am doing instead is dwelling on the fact that I did not get back to my Mama today. Or the day before that, or the day before that, for that matter. (Say that ten times over) You know what else I am doing? Of course you don't. I am listenig to my girlfriend tell me her best friend of 30 years Mama is dying of cancer. She's crying. This is grown-up ****. Grow-up **** sucks.
Oh the irony...
You need to be logged in to comment