|a late august backyard bloom.|
This morning, much like yesterday morning, I woke up half an hour before I needed to leave for work. Luckily I work a stones throw away, so I just slipped on stretchy leggings and a striped cotton three-quarter sleeve, made a slightly too-decadent strawberry smoothie with full fat coconut milk, and left.
My drive to work involves a very specific, though-out route: I make a left, a right, a left, a right again; I wait at the lights for an irritatingly long stretch of time, every time; zip down the bus lane and I am there. The most notable part of my drive to work is my intentional avoidance of my ex's house, however.
Work has been busy lately indeed, but the days are fuller and more interesting as a result, and I feel smarter; purposeful.
For dinner I made salmon and zucchini pasta with pesto. Moments after I took my first bite, I received terrible, if not highly frustrating news that if I am faced with only once more, I am going to break and/or punch everything in my general vicinity. This actually did end up happening a small while later when I slammed my bedroom door so hard that a picture fell off the wall and shattered. I sobbed while I listened to my mother quietly sweep up the glass.
She later popped her head in my room to update me on my cousin's two-centimetre cervical dilation. A new baby is on the way.
The frustration and the hurt I've been carrying the past few months is all a very long story, and one that is the core, the root, the guts of my darkness as of late. But all is well, and all will be well.
This too shall pass. An encouraging reminder.
If there's one thing I know right now, it's that I'm craving a getaway. If only to the forest; to a swamp, a river, a pond.