fivebyevif

Two years ago today? Doomsdays, Gladiator tickets, funnelcats, birthday/Pamie babble, and 5k awards.

One year ago today? Bad military jokes and philosophical pontification on the passing of loved ones. And my mother calling me later to tell me my journal entry was one year off.

My day has been without incident. I took a bath in the gloaming; that is, I switched off the lights, fired up a candle, and sank back into linden flower bubbles. I highly recommend it if you’ve never tried it. It’s quite pleasant.

Sometime in the darkness, after tripping over a chain of other thoughts and ponderings, I came to the realization that I’ve been listening too hard to the high-pitched panicky voice inside me that’s afraid I’ll never find someone to share my life with. Someone may or may not show up; if they do, great, if they don’t — I’m not waiting for it, I’m not going to force it, and I’m not going to compromise myself for someone that only fills the glass halfway.

But most of all, I’m not going to feel “less-than” because I’m picky about who I entertain with my love. If I never have kids, that’s the cards I’m dealt — I have other outlets for that instinct. I have nephews. I may even have a niece, soon enough. There are tons of kids being born into my religion. I may never be anyone’s mother, but I can be the bitchin’ spinster aunt who shows up with photos of the places she’s visited and treats the kids to ice cream and hot pretzels.

Or something like that.

This isn’t stuff I didn’t already know. I’ve always known it. Sometimes I forget it.

There’s just too much to remember in life.

So much for short journal entries.

Happy Cinco, amigos! And happy Cinco, Papo. I love you, and I miss you.