With a ten-client load, the day was light and fun but challenging food-wise. “Head on up; I’ll meet you there,” I said to my 3 pm appointment as I opened the office kitchen’s microwave. I slammed a piece of breaded chicken in it with two slices of Havarti on top until it melted, then ran a bun, a small jar of mayonnaise, an avocado, and a plastic knife upstairs to get the party started.
My walk yesterday to Fred Meyer, a few blocks from my office, was a stellar choice as it filled my usually water-only workday with bananas, yogurt, and granola—the essentials for crafting chicken and avocado sandwiches.
Do I brag? I worry I do. Before I draw any conclusions, I need the definition. To brag means to fake pride in something you have done or possess. Yes, I do that. I have many things I’ve done and currently do that I am proud of and will gladly share and celebrate. Do I prance on my tiptoes and sprinkle fairy dust fingers at others while saying, “Nana nana boo boo, I do but not you?” No, I don’t do that. But… I could start?
All jokes aside, it’s approaching 10 pm, and since I got a late start writing, I hope to finish my book before sleep gets me. Because that’s exactly how it’s been lately. With all the gusto I can muster, hoping to finish my book, something keeps happening. Gravity takes my hand and book and bonks them to my bed, waking me up instantly. I get embarrassed—don’t ask me why, but an accidental sleep is always embarrassing. And then I start reading again. This happens one or two more times, and then nothing. I’m out. Sometimes I wake, and my book is my partner next to me in bed, a reminder that I lost again.
Here goes nothing!
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 