This morning on the way to school I got all the way downtown near my daughter’s preschool and suddenly realized my son was still in the backseat, which meant I completely forgot to drop him off at his school. I have to drop him off first because his school starts earlier.
Fuck, I thought as I was completely roused from my daydream and the beat of a good song on the radio. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now he’d be late. At first I was going to keep heading to my daughter’s preschool and at least get one of them to school on time. But I didn’t. I veered off course and back to the elementary school. He was 9 minutes late. Not a big deal, but a wake up call for me.
In a conversation with my cousin about our upcoming wedding anniversaries – hers in October, mine in November – she asked me what year my husband and I were coming up on.
“Seven,” I replied, to which she responded, “Oh boy, the 7-year itch!” I’d never heard that phrase, so she explained that it basically means that happiness in marriages tend to decline around the seventh year. We dissected it because often affairs are associated with the 7-year itch.
I’ve thought a lot lately about my priorities. Besides all the normal ones like my family, my health, my sanity, etc… I’m trying to not only find what is most important to me, but to live by those things and focus on only a few priorities and limit all the other “noise” that litters our information overloaded society. (And my head).
The clock is ticking.
So much to do, so much to catch up on, so many new thoughts flooding my brain.
I’ve been in waiting for the last few weeks. Waiting until I got my kids settled in school. We’re almost there.
That means freeeeeeeeedom for me. At least a little bit.
When I woke up this morning the weather was in the mid-fifties. For the first time in months I reached for a hoody. I didn’t feel the need to turn on the A/C, my sheets weren’t damp with sweat, I felt a light breeze through an open window, and my skin wasn’t sticky.
Fall is coming.
I have mixed feelings.
This morning’s run didn’t take me as far as I wanted it to. In other words, I had to walk part of it. At first this was a huge disappointment, but I soon realized it was better to walk than run through the agony.
When I started out I had a respectable pace, but a clumsy, achy, tired gait. I couldn’t get my groove after a busy weekend full of highs. It didn’t help that I was running along a road less traveled.
Last night before I went to bed I toyed with the idea of making myself an ice cream sundae. I didn’t really need it, but it sounded good. I asked my husband if he wanted to have one with me. He said no. Not that that’s deterred me before, but I just had this feeling that it wasn’t the ice I was craving — it was something else.