The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

I think I might be bored by my own mind or bored with the regular stuff that keeps coming up. Is that why we can’t do therapy on ourselves? ‘Cause we would just get so bored? You don’t make sense. You don’t either. Let’s be non-sensical together. I’ll hide in my blanket fort and you shout out non-sequiturs. Okay. Wait, what are non-sequiturs? I did an improvisation workshop for grade sevens and realized I need to brush up on my simple articulation. You know, the way good teachers know exactly at what level to speak to their students. For example, if you tell a grade seven to ‘commit’ to her performance, it’s probable she won’t understand. But if you tell her to ‘go for it,’ she might just get it. By the way, hard to write unadulterated – no, that’s not the right word – unadulterated is about muddying the waters – I’m talking about how it’s hard to write uncensored knowing that I’m going to post these words on my blog. And then is the purpose of this free-form writing obliterated – if what is supposed to be ‘free’ is really destined for an audience? I’m confused. Oh, get over yourself. Actually, I am so over myself. Let’s eat butter tarts. The really drippy kind. “I miss her terribly, but she’s having the time of her life,” the woman behind me says aggressively. I don’t want to know her. I look ahead to the pretty one in her flowing white blouse. If I was a wealthy woman, I would have a closet full of white blouses. All sorts of flowing blouses, made of lovely fabrics. No silk because I have no use for arm pit stains. Do you know what I mean? If you don’t, please don’t say. Isn’t it better to be understood. Oh, by the way, this is the day I stop explaining my actions as a parent. I just do what I do and I don’t defend my choices. Yep, today. I like to watch all the parents walking home with their little ones in wagons (not that I understand the wagon as a wheeling device, but that’s just me.) I admit I feel a smidgen of judgment regarding parents and their wagons. But how am I to expect mercy if I don’t offer it myself. Mercy for the wagon riders? Yes, mercy for everybody. Mercy, mercy, mercy. We all need just a little bit more mercy.