Have you ever opened up the fridge and wondered who in god’s name bought all of this kale?
It was me. I don’t want kale.
My neighborhood is about to become a lake. I would say its puddle season, but my neighborhood has hills and crevices and all these nooks and crannies that will fill and converge until it is, in fact, lake views for the next few weeks. These mountains of snow need to vanish. I’m done. We had our annual, cherished time. I’m over it. But first their watery destruction will erode my walks with Poppy. I’ll allow it if it gives way to spring.
I’ve been reading Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed and its been like falling into a vortex of incredible writing. Its like I’ve been warped onto another planet. I love it. And lately I’ve been consuming all kinds of things. It started with six (!) shows on apple tv plus. Followed by completing two netflix shows, and an audio book. And now its Cheryl Strayed. She makes me want to wallow less and love the world more and write with abandon.
I went to a new yoga class last week, which was better than I expected, in a gentle way. The room was warm, embracing me. It seems like I keep falling into wanderlust with all of these experiences lately. I haven’t read a book with so much interest in quite some time It feels good. Like an old friend.
Feels good to feel good ya’ll. Just does.