The week started out well. Mama translation: I didn’t have to mop up the bathroom at church. I followed a friend to the class she teaches since I have a key to the door. My intention was to rush back to a different class another friend was teaching. The first friend gently placed her hand on my arm to lean in and whisper an invitation to stay.
I hesitated. I’ll be honest. I am certain I talk too much in church classes. Sometimes, my overzealous gratitude for knowing I am more than just a white trash girl from the sticks makes me want to say something to let other people know they are deeply loved as well. But I don’t think people who are new to our faith need to hear my deep and often hard-to-follow thoughts. Anyway, I took a glance at the class attendees that had arrived promptly and stood at attention. Three tall military (does former military exist if someone stands in a way that makes you want to salute them?) veterans stood looking down at us expectantly. What else could I do? I added my estrogen to hers and joined the class.
And I talked, probably too much. I bragged about being asked to turn off my barcode scanner when I worked in the library. That got a chorus of voices declaring me a librarian. Instinct kicked in because all I ever heard at the library was how you couldn’t be a librarian if you didn’t have an MLS, even if us lowly library technical assistants did most of the work since we didn’t need to pad our files for conference time. Anyway, despite my objections, at least two people declared that I am a librarian, so I have accomplished that childhood goal. Now to become a paid writer?
You can make that come true if you are feeling magnanimous and like reading my writing. I just need to lure my muse back and finish up a couple of pieces I have in the works. Someone noticed that I haven’t posted yet this week. Right? And that I still owe one to my lovely receptacle of my muse’s offerings.
One of my daughter’s best friends invited her to a small birthday dinner on Monday. Her sister was also generously invited. My friend picked them up and took them to the party, so their parents could have a few hours off. The girls had fun. I did not. Suffice it to say, an event happened that scared off my kinder muse and I am not sure I want to write the darker stuff the remaining inspiration left in its wake.
So I better stop typing about my average week and wish you all well. Halloween is coming. I have costumes to commit to and tasks to accomplish—mostly laundry—average week.