did i lose a week? or did i gain a week?

i can’t decide yet? and yes, i mean to end that sentence with a ? and yes, feel free to answer for me.

the last 9 days are wrapped in panels of gossamer, crammed tightly in a strong-box of iron, hidden underneath old, dusty furniture and discarded playthings in a recessed attic, in the east wing of a twenty-plus bedroom, english countryside estate, blanketed with fog, haunted by ghosts friendly, and found shrouded through knotty, one-laned, stomach turning back roads accessed only via horse and carriage. 

asking me to recollect my days, nights and moments sends me into a brow furrow so creviced, the jaws of life must be called into play to pull my forehead back into unity.

i remember coffee, numerology, beautiful babies, the sun and the moon ascending over the ocean and cypress trees, raw diets, and political cease fires. but that’s about as detailed as i can go.

why does reminiscence sometimes feel like level 10 on the stairmaster? why does spelling reminiscence feel like level 11 on the stairmaster?


expectation was a big theme of the trip, but please don’t ask me to recall examples or anecdotes. i just know that there were tears, laughter, opinions, meals, and silence shared over the topic of expectation. 

how, even though we try our hardest not set expectations for people, events, vacations, etc. we ultimately do so anyway. the consequence being we end up getting let down or we’re surprisingly dazzled. i often don’t know i’ve had an expectation until i feel the resulting positive or negative emotion. 

my lesson, which isn’t a new one, is to refocus my attention to the now. i believe much of my angst with re-chronicling is whether my experience lives up to others’ expectations for me. it shouldn’t matter, but that’s a whole ‘nother carton of eggs to crack.

did i lose a week? or gain a week? what week?

it’s about today, and i’m happy to be here, home with you.

monday happy to you m’loves.