Today was the tomorrow where I had made plans to do my shoulds, and it started with a Bang! In the back of my head. Woke up with a throbbing headache, which would have made me sick to my stomach if I wasn't already sick to my stomach.
Scrawny, 20 year old manager guy was talking to scrawny, 18 year old register guy. Serious discussion about scrawny, 18 year old’s break. Middle-aged guy in front of me, graying, filled out the way some middle-aged guys fill out, was grinning to himself about their seriousness. I’ll admit grinning myself, although I’m not going to admit to any graying. Or filling out, either!
Earlier, a friend emailed me this video. 30 years ago, when we were 18, scrawny, and by the looks of it, not serious about much.
Would this make middle-aged guy grin? I haven’t been able to stop.
I had Word open, and my cursor was jumping from the fourth sentence to the last sentence up to the second word in the first sentence all on its own. What I wrote became highlighted as if I hit command all, but I didn’t hit command all at all. I didn’t hit anything. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t take my commands. Word closed, Safari opened to a post Sheila O’Malley wrote on August 28. As I tried to type a question in the search bar about this craziness, the system crashed, as if to say, You’ve asked enough of me today.
Shopping in an antique store for something to house a collection of books for blue kid, The Skimmer and I found the perfect wooden box. Old, with a heavy metal latch and beaten up just enough to give it character. It felt like it had a story.
The Skimmer was worried it was a scary ghost story.
I convinced him it was a good box. Way more full of light than darkness.
As we left the store I was carrying the box and noticed a sticker stuck to my hand. It said: