I don't want to write about the day I slept 2 1/2 extra hours in the middle of the morning after the school routine was completed and house tidied.
I don't want to write about feeling jealous that the cats can lounge all day without guilt. I think revealing such pettiness and such a lazy streak with harm me.
I don't want to write about the dead plants on the deck. The one I watched gasping for water and dying of thirst.
I don't want to write about the night I drink too fast and can't remember the end of the evening and am too embarrassed ask what happened.
I'm not going to write about the complexity of leaving my job permanently this week. Wednesday I will hand in my garage door opener, the fob for the building access and have an exit interview.
I don't want to write about what I'd really like to say to people in HR about the people I work under. I don't want to vocalize my disappointment. I don't want to be quoted.
I don't want to write about the pattern of feeling like a disappointment and so living up to that by actually being a disappointment. I want to write about my liberation.
I want to write about the cloak of air around my shoulders that lifts me up just centimetre off the ground. I want to write about the dreams that nudge me awake that are not about fire or danger or the anxiety of having too hard a job.
I want to write about the leeks that are growing on their own in the garden. They came up without my hand and the raspberry crop we harvested. I want to write about the bouquet of sweet peas on my table and how to send sends tears down my cheeks and fills my head with a vision of my grandmother and our summers together.
Inspired by "Random Interview" by Pat Loather