I really want to work on my story, and I am allowed, of course, thanks to this year’s new ruling on the field.  But I don’t know that I can rush that and I need to get my five hundred words so I’m going back to the old standby and telling you about my day.

I went to a patron’s funeral today.  I ate tea sandwiches and two tiny fingerling cookies.  And maybe three or four sips of champagne.  But no more than that.  And it was only because I hadn’t had time for breakfast because we went to the rosary and I didn’t think it appropriate to be slurping down a diet shake and checking my phone while people are mourning and then, we didn’t get to the reception until 1:00p.m. and I was just overtaken by being hungry.  This shouldn’t be the focus, but I had never met the woman and it was clear that she was well-loved and her gifts had immense impact.   She was, clearly, a woman of means who used her wealth to do good.  The minister at the church had an somewhat unorthodox approach to his speech, but to boil it down, he essentially said that a good way to honor her would by taking a risk in our lives.  I’m thinking about that now.

There were a lot of other little moments.  Social situations that reminded me of the way things could be at the old job.  People kind in both genuine and disingenuous ways.  Thinking I was being supportive and then wondering why I was there.   Wondering if I compensate for such feelings with an over aggressive handshake.

Then, of course, was writing group and we were at the Barnes and Noble but unexpectedly, some children were playing stringed instruments in the cafe area so we scouted out the little kids section and all sat wedged into the tiny chairs.  I was imagining, I don’t know if you’ve seen this, pbandjax we’ll have to talk about Miranda – but this episode of Miranda where she goes to visit her old school and sits in one of the tiny chairs and finds it attached to her ass when she gets up, but I was petrified of not fitting or worse, getting stuck.  I feel oddly certain that those six pounds lost allowed me to sit in the chair with a modicum of grace.

And then, now, you.  And me.  And this thought that is so useless in my head.  And this whole other thing I need to…this whole other thing.  And it’s nothing.  I know you couldn’t measure it, or detect it, not a blip or a twitch on any device would call it real.  And yet, there’s that on one side and it fills me up with bubbles and light and all that should be, but it’s not anything.  It is not legitimated by anything other than the thought it should be.  My thought.  And it’s enough.  But now.  Now, I’m supposed to give you up for this…thing.  And I’m rebelling, I’m clinging, I’m reaching towards the unreality and I’m angry about that and frustrated about what other, better girls would do.

One thing at a time.