You are dropping me off at the metro station but it’s a little bit early, so we decide I’ll sit in the car and wait. We start to joke about tattoos and I pick up a pen and pretend to write on your arm. You playfully push me away, telling me to stop – I love when you say my name with laughter.
I reach up, touch your face and tell you how much I love the crinkles at the corners of your eyes. They are without doubt one of my favorite parts of your face.
When enough time has gone by, I get of out the car and I can see you gesturing but I can’t quite make out what it is that you’re doing. You drive up beside me and roll the window down to ask me why I’m not responding the kisses you’d blown me. I smile, tell you that I couldn’t see what you were doing. You don’t believe me, but that’s okay – we both laugh as I blow you a kiss and you drive away.
Buried underneath a new issue of Entertainment Weekly and a bill I can wait to open was a letter from your Mom. Her handwriting a swirl of blue loops and curls just like I remembered it. I made an offhand remark about the fact that she’d written me a letter and then tucked it back where I’d found it because I was scared to read it. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking it might say but the threat of sadness made me stick it back.
I finally opened it two, maybe three days later when I had finally steeled myself against the contents. Your Mom, she’s sweet. She misses you a lot, more than anyone on this enormous planet & she’s been making sure to check in, making sure that I don’t fade into obscurity. Part of me is grateful for that and part of me wishes that her affection didn’t immediately remind me that you’re gone. I’m wondering when that part goes away or if it ever does.
I’m pretty sure the same day she woke up to write that letter was the day I sat at my desk at work and wrote you a tearful letter. I’ve yet to tell her that every time she texts me it’s always a day when you’ve been heavy on my mind. I don’t know if she’d think that was sweet or try to communicate with me less. I don’t ever want her to think that I’m trying to forget you. I’m not, I won’t, I can’t.
I suppose that I’ll write her a letter back. Maybe this is the best for both of us.
I left home for work yesterday, trying to be a good little employee. I stopped in the grocery store by my house to grab a few things to take to work when I felt something odd with my shoe. I looked down & it seemed okay but as I took 2 more steps I realized that the top part of my shoe had come apart from the bottom and it was basically hanging on my 4 tiny pebbles of cheap glue. Yes. That really happened.
I thought I’d be smart & buy some crazy glue, which I could not find. Finally, a clerk helped me find it and I hobbled outside to try to McGyver my shoe, I realized it was futile because you need a needle to open crazy glue. Yep.
So, I shuffled back to my apartment where I made the executive decision that I was just going to stay at home and do what I needed to do from there. When the universe speaks, I listen. Most times.
So, I spent the day doing very little work and lots of lounging. Basically, it was a perfect day. Besides, you know, when my shoe fell apart in the grocery store.
You know what I hate? Exercising. With the passion of a thousand burning suns, I hate it. Those endorphins that people claim to feel after exercising? If I do ever feel them, and I can’t be certain that I do, they are not greater than my hate of exercise. Don’t even poise your fingers over the keyboard to tell me how much I’ll learn to love it – I’m not going to. Not now, not 100 workouts from now. What I will do is try to constantly remind myself that exercise is a necessary evil, like bills or taxes. Exercise is a way of life. It is good for me and my body responds well to it.
I know who I am so I know that I need to commit to it before my feet even hit the floor. Just do it, if you will. So, there it is – I hate exercise but I’m doing it. I will do it. I can do it.