A Strawberry Moon

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I am half-convinced to take my little sister’s advice a step further when she says, “Well, there’s always Bridezillas on Netflix.” This is not the thing I need to be doing right now.  I need to be writing something fictional and avoid the sadly, real life dramas of deranged women who are hateful when they, perhaps, should be the most gracious they will ever be in their whole god-forsaken lives.  And yet, I continue to need and want a good distraction.

No answer is no answer.  Maybe this was some sort of social faux pas.  Maybe this was not what he was getting at at all.  Maybe it’s one more agonizing trip through the Gallery of How Stupid Can One Girl Get?

At least I can say I did something different this time.  That if there was a window, a window people defenestrate themselves through a thousand times a day, I was right there with them, flinging myself into the unknown and hoping there was a generous haystack to catch my fall.   I have let it sort of roll around in my mind, asking myself every now and then if I regret last night’s semi-considered breach of the virtual wall.  I don’t know.  I don’t feel this desperation to go through with it, though I will if that’s the way the cards fall.  It’s like the Jeff Buckley lyric weighing what it feels like to be doing things out of desire rather than out of consolation.  It doesn’t feel like I will necessarily like the results of this social experiment, but I know it was necessary.  It was critical, as critical as making that drive.  Equal taps on the eggshell before the albumen runs out.

If we’re not going to do this, how can we do the rest?  How can the imaginary joy we long for begin without hello, without coffee to help it wake up?

In an envelope on our mantelpiece, there are two notes.  One my sister has signed and one I have signed and in them are our horrible fates that the other has planned if we don’t meet this month’s singular goal: average 6000 steps a day on Fitbit. Now, I know that people say that 10,000 is good and proper and usual.  It’s what average should be.  But I’m not average, hah, and I know I need to work up to that 10,000.  Already I know, too, that I have to make up some steps.  Yesterday’s giant adventure into inexplicable bravery took up the majority of the day and today, even with some effort, I’m still behind.  I am going to have to push myself on the weekend because I have no idea what my sister’s planned for me.  I just have a real clear idea that I don’t want to do it.  And it’s already June, if summer’s a better time to achieve some of these sorts of health goals, then, I have to use some days to push and do it.

Where there are areas completely beyond my control, we must attempt to exert some control on the rest.  And getting some sleep to face another day is part of that.

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