A nightly mix of insomnia and the kind of dreams you read about. Not here. Not now. Surely, there are other things I can do at 3:30 am besides watch Witness for the Prosecution again. Eh, ducky?
I held two babies today. A little wrinkly girl, born yesterday. She snuggled into my deltoid. Then an 11-week old boy went right for it too. The delta of my deltoid.
About a year ago, Beaulah asked me to write about the last time I cried. I couldn’t remember any. Well, I’ve been tearing up here and there. I’ve had to excuse myself from a meeting or two and rush a little dramatically down the hall. I did have the yoga class cry a couple weeks ago. During shivasana, that deep relaxation time, wah! No, I just lay there quietly, tears streaming down.
Why the sad pan? A couple little/big things fluttering around in there and occasionally banging up against the wall.
Nothing is ever as bad as the old storm of ’95. Remember that, kids? It’s been 10 years, no commemoratives will be sold.
