Re blogging because itl ends with feeling home.
I am kneeling on the rug in the bathroom.
My arms held awkwardly to put enough tension on the rope I’m holding.
I can not let it untwist.
I’m fussing a little.
My bones feel every bit of their 38 years tonight.
Sir is in the shower.
I am waiting
not so patiently.
I don’t want to disappoint, but lately I feel disappointing.
My head isn’t in the right place.
I’m happy to kneel, despite the pain, and I will not let the rope go.
Still, I’m fussing.
Sir hears my fussing, asks me, so I suck it up.
I am determined to overcome my brain.
The shower shuts off.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath… again… again…
It is working and I focus on the sounds.
The squeegee on the tile, the slide of the towel, the ruffling sound on Sir’s head, finally the…
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