No, I'm not referring to a district of any kind. I'm just recounting the last twenty-four hours of my life. I had a long day yesterday, filled with lots of emotions, physical pain, attitude adjustment, over exertion, more pain, memory lane travel, heart strings pulled, Netflix binge-watching, peanut butter and honey, one giant-ass spider, and another fall from my husband. (Never fear, the spider didn’t make it, but my husband is recovering.) My weekends tend to follow one of two patterns. I either do nothing, which causes a Tin Man after the rain kind of rigor mortis, or I do too much, and I end up with a fibromyalgia full body migraine. The weirdest part of this spectrum is that it only appears the last time I wake up for the day. The other two to three times I wake up to accommodate my bladder, I'm stiff and sore, but functional. It's the last hour to hour and a half of my night that leaves me longing to be hit by a Mack Truck. So, I decided I would try something different. The last time my bladder called, I would not go back to sleep. I would appease my bladder and get ready for work. AND IT HAPPENED!
I smiled and said, “Welcome to the Red Light.”
In that moment, I realized that even though I’ll never be a morning person, my train will jump the track more times than not, and I stay at least one step behind the rest of the world, there’s one thing that always evens out the playing field—no matter how many people pass me by, we all end up at the same red light.
1 Comment
10/31/2021 08:45:11 am
I'd like to read your first story (My Life as a Clothes Hanger)
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AuthorMy dad has a copy of a story I wrote when I was 9 or 10 years old called My Life as a Clothes Hanger. I thought if I ever wrote a memoir, that would be my title.Then it hit me, I have a blog I never use... Archives
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