I spend a day wishing for time to write after the kids’ bedtime.
Yet, when I get that time, I miss them. And I fall asleep. I’m always sleepy if I don’t keep the Coke Zero flowing. I slow to a crawl. Mind, body, and spirit. I institute process and procedure to possibly accomplish anything and also the leeway to set it all aside.
If I could just get a day, though …
What could you do? If Jesus or Buddha stuffed in an extra day – just a one-off, not an extra day. We can’t mess with the interval between Thursday night football and Monday night, or Sunday meditation service and Wednesday.
I argued with a friend about politics while she waited for her egg, sausage, and cheese English muffin at work on Thursday.
I know. I’m so far removed from politics since my media purge in October, but now and then, a news story works its way to my attention, between audiobooks and Matchbox 20 on Pandora and Yahoo! Sports updates on Colorado Rockies games. Much of current events are foreign to me.
The subject of our disagreement isn’t the point.
It’s the fact that our belief systems can feel right as rain and can change and sometimes can’t be changed. Where does belief even come from? It’s in conviction, what we know to be right, but what if others know it to be wrong? That doesn’t change it for us.
There’s a lot of stuff I wouldn’t think much about if it weren’t for these three kiddos who like to mill around and ask stuff. Quicksand. Piranhas. The world’s strongest dude. Stuff about Jennifer Lawrence movies. (I might think about that one).
I swear, though, if I had to come up with these questions every Friday, they’d excite you like a certified public accountant annual regional convention gala dinner might. They’d make plain vanilla taste like Neopolitan with cookie dough, cake icing and sprinkles.