So. That happened.
I've been struggling a little, with what I want to say here since. I've opened the post window several times over the last few weeks, only to stare at it for a while before closing it and walking away. I don't have a problem being trite and zany on Facebook or Twitter. That's my stream of consciousness; that's what flies out of my mouth during a conversation.
And now, nothing seems important enough to blog about. But I want to tell anyone who will listen.
Should I tell you about how I saw a man cradling a paper crane in his hand on the elevator? Or the fire extinguisher that was just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk outside of my office yesterday? Should I tell you about the countless trips I've made to the lab because of the swine flu testing my office does? How about the time that I got the wrong salad dressing? Or when I went the whole day with my shirt inside-out?
None of it means a damn thing. And that's okay. We're okay. I'm okay. We buried Ina on a Thursday, and I wore purple.
There's always more story to tell.
And, you know what, World? You crazy, magnificent mess of humanity? I love you. Every single one of you.