in which Megan sits and sees a view during Lent 2011
10:37 a.m. Sitting on the back porch. There are white blooms on the red-tip photinia. My old boss–the one who went to prison–loved those. And lantana.
I finished my grief journal today, thanks be to Sally. God bless her up, down and sideways–please!
I’m still in my pj’s. I just ate a family-sized serving of jasmine rice, salted cashews and Craisins because that’s what I’m craving on this day, the last day of my period.
I’m nicer to myself when I’m sick. I go slower. I stop sooner. I take time to watch “The Office” with my son. What if I just said, “I’m sick” all the time? Obviously, my immunity sucks. I’m highly susceptible to cancer. Why not? Why wait? Embrace illness now!
My head hurts. I don’t care. My uterus hurts. Oh well.
“It’s a perfect day. The temp is mid-’70s, humidity 60 percent. It’s a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky and I can say without fear of dissent. It’s a picture-postcard perfect kind of [spring morning]. It’s a perfect day.”
(thank you, always, “Phineas & Ferb”)
