Stuff to Do

Partly inspired by a blog post I read somewhere else recently, but also by a trip down memory lane last night.  I was looking through my high school yearbook last night. I looked at my photo, and began to talk (in my head) to that girl. Because though she was me, she's not really me now. Or rather, I am not her. I thought about the things that I would say to her.  I would say... It's okay to be scared. I know you can't see how happiness could ever be yours, but you will taste happiness. And that happiness? Will taste even better because of your sadness.  I would say... Your open and raw emotions are a gift, not a curse. Whoever says it's shameful to hide your tears is just plain wrong.  I would say... You have a brilliant future in front of you - don't let the weight of someone else's expectations push you into a future that's not meant for you. ...   I would sit with her, listen to her dreams, dry her tears, laugh at her jokes, but most of

Go figure. As soon as I declare myself a writer, life happens and I don't get to write. And now, I'm sitting at the computer, with a whisper of an idea in my brain, but not quite sure how to get it out. This may or may not make sense, but hang on and stay with me, because I will eventually get to a point.  I have this blue shirt. It's nothing special, just a shirt. I don't have any particular feelings about or attachments to it. It's just something to wear, then wash. I look good in blue, but that's really all I can say about it. It doesn't quite fit me these days, either the neckline dips a bit too low and reveals too much, or the hem creeps up and exposes my well-earned soft middle area. Some days, it just doesn't feel right. The arms are too tight, or too short, and I fiddle with it all day long, tugging and stretching, trying to make it look and feel the way I want it to look and feel.  I never quite get there, and yet I never think about donating