The wind is picking up again, gusting against the house.
I want to go for a walk, a quick one, to return some DVDs, to feel the terrible wind toss my terrible hair.
My Girl is off with friends relaxing. She has misplaced her wallet (it will turn up. these things always do). Her friend bounced into my house and said, "I want to plant flowers with you! I plant flowers every year."
My garden isn't a garden. It's three terrible beds, terrible as the terrible wind, not yet filled with weeds. But the weeds will happen.
I think I can finish those essays by Friday.
Correction: I know I can finish those essays by Friday.
I won't know until Friday.
Friday, the Girl and I are going to a Teen Improv show.
Well, we are both going but not together.
Sitting through improv with one's mother is probably almost as bad as watching the sex scenes in Black Swan with one's mother.
I will detach myself from Girl and her friends and find my improv teacher.
(I love her. She's opening me up to a whole new me. This class is my secret gift to myself. I have told very few people who know me in person that I'm taking it.)
Saturday, the Girl will suffer through five hours of ACT testing.
Sunday, she will/we will pack for the band trip next week to Disney.
Her Daddy will come by to gather her suitcase to take to the school for storage and loading while I am off to make an ass of myself in the class I so love, so love, so love.
Monday she leaves us until Saturday.
I know I will fret.
She is glad I didn't want to chaperone. Freedom. She won't have time to miss us, and that pleases me.
I feel like I'm entering a new phase.
I will be able to enter it fully if I can shatter some bad patterns that don't do me any good.
I can shatter the patterns.
There is lust in this wind. It hungers for something.
My body hungers for movement.
It's time to walk.