Ocean Inside the Shell

Here I am, at Starbucks. It's my private mother's night out. Actually, it was supposed to be a day out, but things happen. More importantly, I drove straight to the drugstore because I didn't know where else to go.

It's a wonder I even made it here at all. I had decided not to get coffee. Then, to get coffee...back and forth. It was too late. I was too hungry. Then, what? Dinner...by myself? I haven't done that since I was about 27.

But, I am here. And, I forgot my book. This was a real disappointment until I noticed Eric's laptop in the backseat. Score! I would much rather write than read right now anyway. Writing helps still my mind and is easier to focus on than a book.

Some of my thoughts as I sit here:

People are strange. Somebody still wears a visor.
Why do people smoke? (I smoked.)
How can I be 38? I feel so much older than I did just a year ago.
Some boys are raised to be corporate monkeys as early as elementary school.
I don't miss being single. Not for a minute. Unless you count the time I was single with Eric. :)
Some dads don't speak to their sons. It's creepy. These two have the same mannerisms and the same awkward silence.
What if we all had recordings of our thoughts? Wouldn't we all be committed? Not in the marital sense, I mean.
If I don't write something "real," then why am I writing? Oh yeah, this is real. Ok, phew.

Well, that was fun. I am back, at least for a moment. I am actually in awe at how perfect my life is most of the time. I know some folks may have a hard time with that given that I write about some unpolitical topics. Breathing a bit of my own air in my own personal space always brings that knowing rushing back. As soon as the strings - apron and other - are cut, I am a flopping fish on the dock. Hoping someone throws me right back in.

But, now. Here, in this mental space I am now inhabiting, my gills turn to feet, and I remember how to walk. (Sad...the boy and his father are now leaving in their Lexus, their mouths, bent fenders.) My energy expands, overfilling every coffee cup, leaking onto the sidewalk outside, evaporating into air. Becoming clouds and sun, and so on.

When suddenly, a white-haired, blue-eyed older gentlemen breezes past me, with a fatherly grin. I overhear him tell the barista he just left the funeral of a good friend. And, my energy retreats like an ocean pulling itself back into a conch shell.

My cups overfloweth, and I am happy. I think I could cry.