Recently discovered an old journal entry that strikes me as a little bit funny and a little bit poignant. It reads like a circle but I’m happy to report that six or eight years later I’ve finally conquered the spiraling thoughts. Getting old is kinda nice.
My mother is a collector, some might say a hoarder, but it’s so delightful when left idling in the car in the Target parking lot she digs out a birthday memory from 2012, a token no one, least of all herself, knew still existed.
She’s telling me about a dream she had last night where we got away with the Crown Jewels, sold them for more money than God can imagine, and ran away to a magical forest where she was finally able to roam free and hone her archery skills, though of course she came back to me each night for a candle lit supper and cuddles.