Lately
I'm trying to retreat to a quiet space in my life today. I think it's been a while since I've really had me time. Even being in the bath is never me time -- Butters is always kicking the door with his little paws and wants to see what I'm up to inside. I know my head always try to do this, but today really broke the wall: I am just craving for some quiet. I don't necessarily want to break up yet again with social media but I find myself craving for real stories of people, not ones manufactured for brands and money. That's kinda burning me out right now. However, I stumbled upon this little gem of a story. Might be something that would make you smile today, too:
“He bought the collection containing the John Doe quasi-tribute and asked me to inscribe it. “I hope no bloke will be hurt in the reading of this book,” I wrote. I was out of town when he emailed that he had read the essay, found it elegantly written and would like to talk about it when I returned.
Elegantly written. How bad could that be? I wrote back: “Whew. I was worried.”
I had smoked salmon and chilled wine ready for whatever our talk was going to be. Sitting at my dining room table, he solemnly announced that he didn’t want to be just friends anymore. He explained: He had read the essay once, then a second time, then the whole collection. Then asked himself, “What am I, an idiot?’””
As I listen to Josie's Song by WIlliam Fitzsimmons, I pretend I am alone in a room, instead of an open working space, hoping I get some more hours before I am once again thrown into a laundromat cycle of a life. Maybe.