I want to do a scream of consciousness. Not the lovely stream, but the kind where the day’s filled with endless “I’m hungry”—right as the cart fills with groceries or at 8 pm when bedtime is overdue. A holler seems pretty reasonable right about now.
Then there’s health insurance, home and car insurance, and a hospital bill we didn’t even know went to collections. The pile piles up and the phone rings, “Your pretty driveway has hydraulic fluid on it.” I didn’t realize the sand-like stuff the landscaper tossed was to soak up a mistake. But after grabbing a broom to sweep it off, that lovely discolored stain is still staring back at me. More advice pours in: “You should demand they fix it.” But what if I don’t have the energy? What if, in the grand scheme of things, it’s just not a big deal to me?
I manage how you see me, sculpting my life like Michelangelo with David. There’s this weight saying, “Give it to Jesus,” but a part of me whispers, “Just five more yards.”
One thought leads to the next, soldiers tumbling into each other, not even a quick “Excuse me” in between.
I watercolored a giraffe today, hearts on the tips of its horns, hearts trailing down its neck. One cheek is puffed out like it’s been chewing a giant wad of Bubblicious gum. Hopefully, it’ll make someone I love smile, and really, that’s what counts.
I jump the wall that’s been holding me hostage and lean back, cracking my back in the process. In two days, a six-seater golf cart with lithium batteries will be delivered right to the front door—like the Sunday paper.
Tomorrow’s Sunday. A fun day. And now I’ll crawl into that coziest, cutest bed of mine and sleep, sleep, sleep.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 