One of my socks is stretched out. And I ran out of my favorite deodorant. And the DVD of Argo I bought refuses to be recognized by the player. And the top sheet hasn’t been in any way attached to my bed in at least a week.
I’m living a stretched-out-sock life, somewhere in between not wanting to make a budget, telling myself that I’m broke, and still splurging on fried chicken. I’m just hanging out on the fence between multiple things I couldn’t give names to.
I miss trees and quiet mornings and happy-looking dogs. I miss looking around and not seeing anyone. I miss broccoli pasta and farm animal waffles.
I mostly doubt that I’ll ever be a liv-er-in-the-moment-er. Wherever I am, I want to be somewhere else, feeling something else. And making a resolution just feels like another piece of crap that I don’t need.
“So I am practicing to be.
Broken hearted then broken open.
Open to who you are and who you are becoming.
Open to who I am and who I am becoming.”
Those are words that I can feel right now. Those are words my mother gave me, words that showed me something had changed.
And, in the end, a sock is still a sock.