Late night rambling

One night I was lying in bed and I couldn't stop crying. Due to hormonal issues beyond my control and because I am a woman, every little thing was making me cry, and I decided I just needed to go to bed. Grace came to see me. "Why are you crying?" I just shrugged. "Do you miss your kids and stuff?" she asked. She has always been able to read my mind. I nodded. "Well at least you are with us right now," she said, comforting me.

I noticed her skin is really dry and made a mental note to tell Mikel to put some lotion on her the next day. Then I burst into fresh tears because I will be at work, when I should be the one putting lotion on my baby girl.

I spent some time mourning my lost summer with the kids. Although it's not really lost. It's just different.

Time flies by at work, and the summer is flying by. I love my job, but I feel like I am missing out. I should be home freezing strawberries, trying new recipes, making raw foods in the dehydrator, making all kinds of things, cleaning out the damn refrigerator, sitting outside in the shade with my coffee in the morning reading a book, working on my novel, taking the kids for walks to the park and to the swimming pool. But I am at work, and then I am tired, and every weekend there is something going on.

But the thing is, when I am with the kids, I am appreciating it to the fullest. I think quality time is more important than quantity.

Last weekend Todd took me out to an Indian restaurant to eat, because he said it was my choice and he wanted to try something new. It was the same restaurant I met Carissa at the first time we got together as friends. The entire time we were there, Muzak renditions of Beatles songs were playing softly over the speakers.

A man with an Australian-sounding accent who is actually from London sold us a van today, and it's the most beautiful color ever, and I can't wait to listen to CD's in it while I drive.

At work, my boss decided someone else should proof my stories, because I missed something and he feels it would be better if someone looked at it that didn't actually write it. I looked it over, then gave it to his wife to proof it. She put a comma in it that has no business being there. I am a stickler about my commas. If someone would have put a comma in that place, I would have crossed it out. But I didn't say anything,because I didn't feel it was my place to tell her she doesn't know what she's doing, and I let it get printed in the paper, and now people are going to think I don't know where to put my fucking commas.

And I can't get the drum beats out of my head, or the half-moon, or the stars. So much goes on under the stars.