I could write about the great morning I had working with a friend in my school book room, but then you’d know that I worked over Spring Break.
I could write about Maggie’s first birthday today, but actually I won’t see her until tomorrow.
I could write about the happy lunch I had with my sister, but then I’d also have to tell you that my school computer was stolen out of my car while we enjoyed our conversation.
I could write about how nervous I was to go home and tell my husband about my computer, but I was actually blessed that he has mellowed with age. He gave a mild lecture, without the shouting of earlier years.
I could write about how deafening the voice in my head is that tells me what an idiot I am, but then I try to remember that whoever that voice is, lies. At least I hope it’s a liar. I am more than the mistakes I make.