I know what you’re thinking.
That I’ve forgotten about you.
That I’ve left you for someone else, someone with more chickens. Maybe a louder voice. A louder friend. You see, I may be an introvert and sometimes struggle being social, but I love extroverts. Every best friend I’ve ever had is loud and the life of the party. And then there’s me.
And then there’s me, who hasn’t forgotten about you. I think of you often. I think, “What can I write today?” And then I do a 10-hour day of work. I put favor bags together and build bouquets. I make burlap roses and frantically try to remember to call the caterer. I try the dress on every few days, then worry that I’ll miss a day and it won’t fit. And it will be too late.
If I haven’t told you yet, I’m getting married. In 11 days now. I want to tell you how my chicks are doing (they’re big now, they don’t come running any more, they all survived) and I want to tell you about my quail (only 11 hatched, only 9 survived, and then there’s Charlie), and I want to tell you about my rabbit conundrum. I want to tell you about the county fairs I’ve gone to and why I love work but struggle with corporate life and the 100 pounds of tomatoes I harvested in 2 days, and the 100 pounds of tomatoes I got for free. I want to tell you about my old house in brand new wrapping. I want to tell you about all the good things and all the bad, but, I barely have time to can the tomatoes (there’s still 150+ pounds in my house), let alone write you.
But I think of you, often.
I think about me, often.
I think about writing daily and exercising daily and sitting in my backyard talking to the chickens.
But I can’t. First, I need to finish my work tasks. I need to demand a day at the county fair. I need to get ready for the wedding. I need to not put on a pound in 11 days.
I don’t have a picture for you, but I have lots of good thoughts. I’m looking forward to the days before the wedding just so I can clean my house. But, before then–150 pounds of tomatoes to turn into sauce.
Oh, and before I depart–weddings are disgustingly expensive. But that’s a different post for another day.