I drew a four of swords this morning and almost dropped the whole tarot deck on the kitchen floor. I always wanted the fortune teller's job as a child because she had all the answers if only you would ask her the questions. I wanted to wear big golden hoops in my ears and stand in the doorway just after sunset, accepting cash from the hopeful who would pay anything for me to tell them what to do. Nevermind that ninety percent of it was bullshit. Ten percent was still the truth and that's all that mattered.
I'm not feeling better today, in fact, I'm feeling a whole lot worse but I'm going to grin and bear it because that's what one does when one is me. Today feels a little edgy and whole lot helpless as if the tiny part of me that is missing Ben so badly but is hiding like a spark under a pile of dried twigs is just going to erupt and spread like wildfire until there is nothing left of anything.
I can't let that happen so the part that is angry at him prevails until further notice.
And Happy Mother's Day. For me it's like being a Christmas baby in that Mother's Day and my birthday are too close together to have two celebrations so other than eating dinner outside (a special treat because BUGS, they hate them) and perhaps a fire show at sunset from THAT guy, it's going to be quiet.
However, I'm going to stretch out in the shade and read all afternoon. I got the entire set of Outlander novels for my birthday and so far they are very good.
(So very, VERY good.)
A woman who's in love with two men, one of whom is a redheaded Scottish highlander who is difficult and one on the fringe? No, I don't know anyone who would want to read something like that.
Oh my GOD, this book is about us.
Not hardly. I'm a Midlander, if anything.
True. And I wouldn't miss Frank. Not even for a minute.
Because he's boring?
Well, that and because he's no Jamie.
What's so good about Jamie? She doesn't even know him.
She doesn't have to! He has red hair and an accent! Nothing else is required!
Maybe Claire is a little too shallow for her own good.
Eh, she's holding out so I doubt it.
She's holding out? Then what's the rub?
I have no idea, they just had a drink together though so it's inevitable?
What is?
Torrid eighteenth-century sex, naturally.
Oh, I see. You're reading historical porn?
No, I told you. They just had a drink. Give me a few hundred pages and then probably, yes I am.
I wish the fortune teller could have told me that!
Why? What would you have done differently?
I would never have taught you to read!
I could read before I met you, Lochlan, Jesus!
Dr. Seuss doesn't count, Bridget.
Too bad. I could have written a sequel. Oh, the Assholes you know!
Is that right? But he's laughing. He's laughing and he didn't stop for half the morning. Every time he looked at me he would burst out laughing again.
