I have had ten thoughts about what to write.
Part of me feels raw. Another feels silly. And another is just going through the motions. Each perspective presents a completely different tale. The silly part wanted to share a prank I’m pulling on a friend, along with the domino chain of events that led to my cup’s straw flinging itself into the trash. The raw part wants sharp imagery, a thousand cuts into a hunk of meat. And the going-through-the-motions part just wants to check the box, call it a day, and move on. Or select all, delete, and start again.
Sifting through what is what feels impossible. I don’t know what I need, if I even need anything, and so how can I give something when it’s unclear? Which makes me wonder if what I need is nothing at all.
So I meandered the yard.
I picked up a rake and pushed and pulled it across the hardened sand. Loosening the tension. Bending to pluck weeds. My mind sifted too, the task lowering the psychological intensity.
And I landed on Paul.
On the prank I want to pull on him, and my desire to share it with you.
I think it’s funny.
But knowing he might read this stopped me.
Paul, stop reading.
What follows is not for your eyes.
Like Reid and I have done for years, affectionately picking on you, we will do so again. But also, if you’re not reading this, why? What is more important to read than the writing of one of your twenty-plus-year friends? Tell me. I’ll wait.
So Reid and Paul will be here in one week, and that benchmark means I need their grocery lists. On the phone yesterday, Paul wouldn’t give me his. He said he’d think about it and come up with one on Saturday when he and Reid get together.
Why he couldn’t simply tell me on the phone—think aloud and appease my request—embodies the very mystery that is Paul. I cannot explain it.
What I can say is that I want to mess with him.
So I sent Reid an audio message, asking him to come up with two or three ridiculous items to add to the grocery list. That way, the next time Paul and I talk, I can anticipate them like a mischievous kid waiting for a punchline.
So now I wait.
Not for Reid. Not for the grocery list.
For Paul to unknowingly tell me he needs three pounds of dragon fruit, a jar of pickled quail eggs, and whatever other nonsense Reid dreams up.
One week to go.
Love,
Jaclynn