Happy Birthday Amelia..the real fun is just beginning! - Jason Squire
Oh wait she's not dead is she. I just read the thing below. Well, happy birthday instead. I still feel the same way. With love from the Whiney and Neffs--
|No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, |
for the first time, for the only time."
- James Arthur Baldwin
At the post office, I find nothing I really want and I'm tempted to just ignore it and leave it there. I have no use for another J. Crew catalog or these bills either. Ugh. Onward to the ferry, the very early ferry, to meet Emily and Ashlea for a walk around Greenlake.
The sun is shining and I have a latte in hand. This should help. Emily arrives with little Lucia, two months old now. Ashlea is starting to show and she finds out if she has a boy or girl on the way this week (it's a girl!). The paved loop circling the lake is crawling with hot little post-baby bodies and their cute little offspring. The air is fresh and the chatter is pleasant. I'm pretty sure that if there is a biological clock inside me, this is when the alarm should be sounding. While everybody around me is glowing, I'm just glowering. Great. I'm going to be a horrible mother, or even worse, maybe not a mother at all. I silently convince myself I'll hear the tick-tock when the time is right.
Over to U Village.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Yes, I need two nice leather armchairs for my boss's office and a table to go in between them. Something timeless, please." And an attitude adjustment if you have one of those lying around.
Instead, the salesman gives me way too much information about leather. Can't he see I am in turmoil over absolutely nothing and can't be bothered cluttering my mind with useless information?
I am an optimist. I swear I am. I found a grey hair and decided it was platinum and that my lifelong goal of being a natural blonde was finally coming true. My boss asked me what I thought of a tv show and I answered something like, "I love the song in the opening credits!" This week there is no silver lining. I really just want to go back to bed. I know what you are all thinking. It's not PMS and no, mom, I don't need protein.
I cross over to Queen Anne to see if the cutie comedian can work his magic over coffee. Brian always makes me laugh, and as usual, we banter our way through a couple of hours of bullshitting. He lives in Hollywood. He tells me I need to move to LA. I tell him I will someday, when the time (and job) is right. He's telling me how he can relate to a buddy of his who isn't feeling the long distance thing with his girl. As I listen, I spot an article on the front page of the paper on the wooden table next to us. The headline reads, "Bullet Trains Coming to the U.S." It has me momentarily daydreaming about me on one (or a Virgin America flight), on my way to meet my main. My main squeeze. Whoever he turns out to be, he's waiting for me in the sunshine somewhere.
Brian successfully pulls me out of my rut. He gives me a hug that only tall guys can give and sends me on my way... directly into rush hour. Ugh. Ferry line. Ugh. I obviously need a run, so it's straight to the gym before I can get too comfortable wallowing on the couch.
"Hey stranger!" Ugh.
"Hey!" I feign cheeriness as I keep walking.
The ex standing in front of me is the one of the reasons I'm always exhausted before I even get to the gym. Trying to look cute and "oh so moved on" sucks. It also kind of makes my membership "oh so not worth it" when I am attempting to sweat without sweating. Dressing up in my dressed-down is a real waste of time. I would give up on the whole thing entirely if it wasn't for "gym guy" and "produce boy" (post-workout grocery runs). You know, the ones you flirt with and hope to God you won't see out and about anywhere else (like at a restaurant with their spouse and children). I blow off the ex, who I'm sure thinks my bad mood has everything to do with him (and me having to live without him). I get a small satisfaction knowing he's wrong, and that if I would have met him in any other zip code he probably wouldn't have stood a chance. Tonight I'm running and sweating and breathing hard and it doesn't matter. I won't be in the produce aisle later, anyway. I'll be in the carb aisle.