“Do you think I am obsessed with blogging?” I said and smiled sweetly. “Yes,” she replied and laughed.
Then she added, “But there could be worse things to be obsessed with.”
Later we put on our layers and went out for happy hour. Not too cold running from house to car and car to bar. No, not too cold at all. Discussion, two for ones, contemplation and lecture flowed freely.
“I want to go to school, but it just seems like so much stress and pressure,” I complained. “I can write without a master’s degree.”
“I think I have been clear,” she explained with frustration. “I believe I have made clear what I need.”
“You’ve got to keep in mind that everything you do has an impact on all of those who love you,” he lectured with passion. “If you’re confused imagine how we feel.”
We all felt better and worse at the same time. Nothing was resolved but perhaps we understood the situation better…maybe not.
We stayed up late. Much too late. Talking. Explaining more. Uncovering hurts and regrets. Weeping and laughing. Searching out the source, the root of our discontent and the path to recovery.
The morning snuck up on me. I need more time.
