I sat at a virtual poker table with a chatty player, a guy that’d been in the military for 20+ years. When I told him what I did for a living, he said, “Thank you for what you do.”
That’s a new one.
I’m used to “Boy do I need to see you!” or “I know someone you should talk to.” But thank you?
Times must be changing.
Now that blogging has become a habit, I feel like I’m back in college days; the looming deadlines, the I’ll get to it soon thoughts, the cutting it close.
Short tangent. I take back yesterday‘s pledge to read “The Elements of Style.” For one, I forgot it’s a reference book. Two, it doesn’t keep my attention. Because. It’s. A. Reference. Book. And lastly, the page on prepositions told me, “Don’t worry about prepositions; break the rule.”
Isn’t that what life’s all about? Breaking the rules? I think so.
But sometimes I don’t know what the rules are. For instance, this blog. What am I supposed to be doing? I have a general idea; open my mind and write. But is stream of consciousness ok? Isn’t this supposed to have a point?
I think I’m uncomfortable without there being an objective. Then in order to make myself feel better I create one. “It’s about decluttering!” or “It’s about being a good person!”
But honestly, I don’t want to have to write about anything. I want to let my fingers press on the keys and words to fill a page, and know that that’d be enough.
I need to know that I’m enough. Stripped down, no bling. A thing. I think you’ll judge me for it, but what if you relate?
What if it’s fate, if it’s not too late. Going, going, gone. Out for the day. Will you stay?
I wanted to end it, but it felt too abrupt. What’s a proper goodbye, a soothing last sentence. Good night, Dave said, what time did Evelyn go down. 9:15, I tell him. And I lay. On the blue couch, I know he hears my fingers tip tapping. I’m not ready to go, but fear you’ll leave me first. What if that’s all our greatest fear, that we’ll leave.
What if we stay?
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