Nine April, Twenty Twenty-One
I’m an atheist who prays and a determined go-getter who loves being out of work. Don’t try and slide any of that woo-woo stuff my way. I’m practical. I’m alert and clear-eyed. I would never throw perfectly good flowers into the trash for example.
But I also go out of my way not to step on those gas caps set into the sidewalk — bad luck — but to step on the ones that have the word water on them — good luck. I try not to step on sidewalk cracks. I hurt my mother enough while she was alive and I can’t be sure that broken backs aren’t a thing in whatever afterlife she found. I don’t do it anymore but I used to hold my breath while passing cemeteries. That probably has more to do with seldom passing them due to never riding in cars anymore rather than having rid myself of that silly, vague superstition.
I married my partner in a minivan at a drive-thru wedding chapel in Reno. Our rings? Matching indigo hoops in our left ears. I let him keep his name. It suits him.
Starting a daily writing project with zero idea where I want it to go? Yeah, that’s me all over.
Losing two pounds and deciding that the best way to celebrate is with a pint of Hagen Daz Swiss Almond Vanilla ice cream. And then walking 14,446 steps instead. But allowing that I just might get that ice cream next time. Classic me.
I’m the shy dork who walked nearly the full 30 miles out to visit some guy who was eleven years older than me who was doing time in a minimum-security prison farm because I couldn’t bring myself to put my thumb out. Then moving to Cleveland in a blizzard with him thinking it was just for the weekend but then kind of never leaving. When that guy decided to move to San Diego in the middle of the night, I’m the one who did the packing. We left dirty dishes in the sink and didn’t bother notifying the landlord (do I really need to say that we were back and couch-surfing in less than four months?).
I don’t have a plan. My general direction is to remain open to anyone who needs my help but then feeling a sneaky sigh of relief when they text that they can’t make it this week. I’m always going to stay up too late and then sleep until 10 am even though I know how great it feels to be out in the world at 6 am.
In short, do what I say but don’t do what I do.
Because, yeah, I’m still going to keep doing ridiculous things. I’ve put some of the more damaging ones aside, but I’m still going to sing loudly off-key, dance badly, write recklessly, and love with complete abandon.
Wish me luck.
© Remington Write 2021. All Rights Reserved.