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Daily Archives: April 14, 2019
I want to drive on roads with no traffic. And if I do pass someone, I want them to wave out the open window of their pickup truck. I want to be able to apply eyeliner like a pro, not like a left handed raccoon. I want to be able to do all the yoga without quivering. I want to live in an old house in an old city on the ocean with a widow’s walk, though I am no widow. Although I sometimes feel like one. I want to always work at an honest job. I want to keep the one I have. I want to grow things and tend to them with my hands. Tomatoes, aloe, squash. Lilies. Okra. I want to sleep without dreaming. I want to listen to good music and lay in the grass and watch the clouds and hunt for four-leaf clovers all afternoon and not wear shoes at all. I want people to adore my accent, always. I want to be called Amelia by people who love me. I want to go on a trip and not come back until I feel rested and healed. I want to eat cupcakes every day. I want to ride fast horses and read good books and have the softest bath towels in three counties. I want my glasses to stay put. I want to admire trees the rest of my days, and listen to wind chimes and not the honking of cars. I…
I met her at the library, so I knew instantly she was good people. She looked like a mom, but turns out I was wrong about that. She looked like she knew about life, and I was right about that. We have gone on to be cohorts in crime, obsessive texters, and foodies from the get-go. We share book recommendations and pretty much the same taste in music. She does listen to a podcast about small town murders that I haven’t been able to enjoy on the same level. It’s pretty grim, Karen. 😐 We challenge each other to spin more, drink less, and not be assholes. We are known as sloth & honey badger. Baker is gazelle. We tell terrible (politically incorrect and inappropriate) jokes, modify our yoga poses, and share a common interest in dogs, cupcakes, and men. Probably in that order. I’m a problem creator~…well, that’s not precisely true. Problems gravitate to me and I think they’ll go away but they only get worse and then I have to ask Beth for advice and she just calmly untangles the whole mess and folds it up and places it in a Rubbermaid box. With a label. And an expiration date. She’s an accountant. I’m an artist, per se. She’s the closest person I’ve got to a ride or die, because Lisa has kids and lives two hours away…
