It's a Miracle
I was sick, but now I'm cured. Hallelujah!
Or it may just be that I didn't feel well enough to go to work today, but now it's past five.
It's beautiful out - lovely and cool, or at least not hot. There's a nice breeze, and late afternoon sunlight slanting through the trees. There are contented cats dotted here and there on the grass around me. There are also swarms of mosquitoes, but you can't expect miracles.
Birthdays and PMS are a terrible combination. Possibly even worse than popcorn and clam juice. But these things, too, shall pass. It's not the getting older that I mind, or at least not yet. It's the lying awake all night tossing and turning and thinking of all the things that I had assumed, when I was a mere slip of a girl, that I would have accomplished by now: financial comfort or at least security; an advanced degree or two; a meaningful and stimulating career; love and contentment; and I expect I meant to have saved the world at least once. Something, anything to make the concept of death less imminent, less horrifying to face. But what have I done? Passed on my genes a few times, then made an emergency backup copy of my personality on the internet? Was this what the world needed?
I am forced to admit that it probably is not.
So I've been sorrowful and sorry, too much so to keep from showing it, which means I'm embarrassed and ashamed to boot. And feeling lost.
But maybe, if I'm miraculously lucky, if you love me, you'll forgive me, and I can be found.