I think I'd like to go back and visit my 14-year-old self and pat her on the shoulder and say, "Girl, everything will turn out fine."
Sometimes I wish my 34-year-old self would go back and tell present-day me the same thing.
These days I have really been missing Pepper, our cat who passed away this past March. We have some pictures of her posted on the refrigerator, and every time I see them I kind of crumple up inside, remembering how precious she was. She doesn't exist anymore, and that is something that I haven't quite accepted yet. I really loved her. Grief is a slow walk.
I've started listening to more public radio and less music. I think I might give up painting and focus on writing. It's not as if I've painted in the past five months anyway, and even then I was never terribly good. I would like to finish reading more books, and improve my vocabulary, or more importantly, my ability to access that vocabulary while speaking. I would like to learn something again.
The purpose of any of these changes is not to pose as an intellectual--that's what my glasses are for--but to return to that neglected side of my brain which requires THOUGHT and not INSTINCT. I almost always favor instinct, and perhaps it is time for a change.
Sometimes I don't remember what a brain is, anyway.
Today at lunch I had a hamburger and read two chapters from Ramona and her Mother. When I draw I will use my left hand.
In case anyone was missing the '90s, I'm pleased to announce that pop-up ads have returned in full force.