The words in print

I want to tell her that I feel for her. That I know how this feels. But I don't. And to be honest the shadow of it that I am familiar with is actually the leaving, not the being left. (and it is not my intention here to make her cry, though I know she may)

I want her to know that I like them together, I love how they make each other happy and I am far far from happy that he's going (now we'll never win!). I am not as connected to him as she is but I very much like him here as a part of "us". And I will miss him too.

But I want her to know that I will be here. That on the days when she needs mindless laughter, hysterical giggles and spontaneous S/M style affection, I will be there (it's not as dirty as it sounds). And on the days when she needs a quiet walk in the park, I will walk at her side (although quiet is not my forte and I may try to cajole a trip to that teeter totter). And on the days when she wants to be left alone, I will try not to call. I will try to limit my enthusiasm over the new city because I know it does not help. ( though, this will be difficult)

But I want her to know that I'm here when she needs me.

My season

When I lived on the East Coast, my favourite season was autumn. Because on the East coast, autumn can be as warm as summer in the days, but the evenings start to feel refreshingly cool (instead of humid and hot). And the leaves! The leaves the leaves the leaves! Leaves the likes of which are never seen here on the prairie; colours unimaginable! (But I covered this already - last fall sometime - and it's not the point today.)

Here I think my season is summer (although here too it can be almost unbearably hot; forgiveable only for the magical thunder and lightening that comes along with the stifling heat). But I really love this time of year - the lead up; some may say "the tease". When days can be so summer-like and yet you can wake up with frost on your car. When April brings sunburns and backyard fires; and May reminds me of festival season fast approaching. When my brain insists that it's already summer, and I "dress inappropriately for the weather" (wow - who knew you could sound so much like my Mom?).

This time of year just feels like summer... or at least you can see it there, in the distance. You can almost touch it. And that in itself is a wonderful sunshine-y feeling.

NOTE: I know my friend Jess posted about a similar topic today but I'd been thinking about this since she mentioned in the comments about not being upset about the weather...

Not a River in Egypt

Denial = wearing flip floppy sandals and no coat. I am completely discounting, ignoring and otherwise not acknowledging this flare up of spring-winter. The sun is still shining and it really can't be below zero when we all got sunburns last weekend. It can't. I refuse to believe it!

I am an open book.
It is never hard to determine my mood, my state of mind. Even those who don't know me well can often figure me out, at least on the surface. But the surface is where it all ends up, my feelings are extremely buoyant it would appear. I am unable to keep them very far below the surface.

Sometimes I think I'd love to be that woman of mystery. The one people wonder about, who always looks like she has an intriguing secret, or a story to tell. I'd love to leave that bit to the imagination. To be an enigma. Sometimes I think I'd like to be those things.

I don't always love my obviousness. And I certainly am not proud of those passive aggressive moments when I try (but not really) to hide my anger or my hurt. I wish I kept secrets better (although the ones I give up most easily are always my own). I wish I was better at "keeping a stiff upper lip".

But most of the time, my open-book-ness is fine by me. I think it lends an openness, an availability (and I don't mean it that way), a degree of being approachable that I like about me, that I'm proud of... in a way.

But maybe I wish I had a question mark... every once in awhile.

unfinished

I have a bunch of drafts I've saved and never gone back to. Now they seem destined to remain unfinished, like that letter you mean to write but never finish and then all your news is decidedly un-new. I just looked back at them and either the mood has passed, or they no longer apply or I can't remember the inspiration. I'm a bit sad about this because I'm sure they all seemed important and relevant at the time... but now they will be relegated to the land of dropped threads... the cyber land of unfinished business. Words with no conclusion, thoughts unpublished, messages unsent.