If we were having coffee, I’d probably invite someone else along. That’s the mood I’m in today, though that particular characteristic is my second worst socializing trait. I like to invite others along. Unless I’m specifically asked for one-on-one time, I can make even just a cup of coffee into a barn party with just a few clicks and swipes.
Someone should really take this phone away from me.
My first worst socializing trait is my tendency to add a question mark of possibility to finite plans. You want to meet for tea today? Great, we’re set. Oh, did you say today because you thought I was free? Because I’m free tomorrow, too. Also, did you say tea because you’re worried that I’m drinking too much coffee? I’m not, I’ve dialed it way back. Did you say tea because you forgot that you wanted to try that juice place around the corner? Or were you just really feeling tea today? Did I want to change the plans? No, I was just asking.
I really was just asking.
Someone should take these question marks away from me.
They say a curious mind is a sign of great intelligence, but I wonder about a curious mind unfed.
Mine is unfed.
I’ve suddenly realized that the last two years of my life have put living on hold.
I think it’s a good thing that I’ve wake up to it, shaken out of it. It’s time to see animals and walk on beaches. It’s time to count the stars.
I saw the moon last night, or the night before.
She was full.
A curious being, fed.
A curious being, glowing.
I’ve lost my glow along with about a million other things, but I don’t have time to count losses when there are so many wins that need tallying.
I like to count.
I like life to count.
I like to give myself the things I like.
So I’d invite a friend to join us for coffee. Maybe I’d invite someone who could be a friend. Maybe I’d invite someone who once was a great friend, but their heart got caught on one of those stars I’m so fond of counting.
You can invite them, but of course, most can only make it back when the star falls, and their wishes come true. It’s an odd-shaped truth that most wishes take us back to where we were, in some way or another.
I’m a little bit funny about odd-shaped truths. I like to leave them where I found them, and then count all the many times I stumble upon them again.
I like to count.
What do you do when you’re feeling depleted of input in?