I woke up before dawn and took Peyton to a swim meet. I ran around for a few hours and hit my 5000 steps by 11 am. And then it was over and my ex took my baby back home to his house and I was left to my own devices.
I ran errands, got stuck in that weird Target shut down (which saved me $150, actually, so thank you, Target!), and window-shopped for hours on my phone like my life depended on it. I sorted through important life documents, did a few chores around the house, loved on the dog.
And I was thoroughly, completely bored. I mean, so bored.
But, I managed to not do a few things, too.
I didn’t prowl for men, I didn’t hit up men I already know, and I didn’t mindlessly eat or drink.
So while I was devastatingly bored, I was also busy.
Busy sitting with my discomfort, busy trying to manage my need to be around people, busy getting organized. Basically, I was busy making better choices for myself for a change.
And it’s 11:53 and I’m going to post just under the wire and day dream about London and about being like the couple I saw come home an hour ago from my perch on my balcony. She ran up behind him and wrapped her arms around him and he turned into her and kissed her even as they kept walking to their apartment. The cicadas seemed to chirp with delight at the little show of affection.
I haven’t felt that kind of abandon with someone in years, the freedom to show that kind of fairy-dust-affection and guilelessness. Maybe soon…
Shit, it’s 11:56. Better hustle!