I enjoyed the next chapter of my life far more but it continued to move with the slowness of cold honey. I was mostly okay with this tenor but the familiar whens and how longs and will I evers crept in.
When I give thought to years now, I realize they have become more akin to class five rapids. And I think, ever so eloquently, "s^%t".*
Six months or eight months or eleven years -eleven years- and I'm no closer to seeing my name on a book cover. Or being a mom. Or wearing a size 10. Or becoming the type of person who never leaves dishes in the sink. Hey time, plod for me, baby.
At the beginning of 2013, I resolved to live with intention. To be aware of the minutes of my life. To experience and remember. I'm not doing that. I didn't write about my intentions to be intentional because I knew that I wouldn't follow through, albeit unintentionally.
I don't think I know how to be intentional. I do know how to very crudely and inaccurately illustrate the inside of a chicken. So I still win adulthood. Clearly.
Tell me, how do you slow your roll?
*Great Grandmother said a lady never uses the s-word unless she is referring to literal s-word. I'm nothing if not a lady.