When you wake up to grumpy children being grumpy about life, being grumpy about squeaky noises, being grumpy about anyone breathing or eating or opening and closing their eyes.
When you secretly want to play hooky because the sun is hidden behind dreary rain clouds and it would be a perfect time to finish that epic drama you were watching on Monday but didn’t have the time to finish.
When it would be the perfect time to finish that doily who’s pattern started to equate to rocket science—or had the cure to cancer woven in it’s jargon.
When it would be the perfect time to crack open one of the three thick books you checked out from the library and wishfully thought you’d have the time to read…
When it would be the perfect time to listen to Bob Ross and try again to make that Irish lighthouse not look just dreadful…
When your toddler waltzes out of her sibling’s bedroom with an open black sharpie in one hand and looking very much like living, walking modern art.
When you seriously consider the beauty in surviving on strong black coffee and nothing else. Maybe poached eggs. Maybe spicy ramen. Maybe curry.
Never mind. We still like food.
So here is the memorial to all the Gia things…to all the wishful things…to all the beautiful things that will not be touched today.
Well, except for the coffee. That’s life. Coffee is life.