Someday the woman wishes the dirty dishes made it to the sink, that the sneakers weren’t dropped in the middle of the room, that there were more hours in the day, no correct that I don’t want or need more hours in the day.
I wish for more hours doing things that bring me joy.
Someday the woman wishes the virus would just die off already, returning us all to normal but wait, I don’t really want that normal back either.
The hectic pace of weekly flights, packing and unpacking and packing and unpacking, forgetting what kind of rental car, you are driving when you get to the parking lot.
No, I don’t want that normal.
But I don’t want this one either, the death counts, the misinformation, the ineptitude in our leadership.
No, I definitely don’t want this to be normal but I must admit that I do want this slowness, the steadiness of a bird being in her nest, making herself at home there for the first time in decades.
The walks brief as they are outside breathing the fresh air, seeing my neighbors, many for the first time, wanting to stop and introduce myself.
No introductions now, only distance, a barrier of our own making, each of us trying our best to wear our own invisible shield through distance keeping us from reaching out right now at least in person.
Oh, the irony for me to finally be home but still be forced to use all of the ways I would to connect when on the road.
My previous distance now much closer and yet still so far away.
Someday the woman wishes for a little less irony and a little more joy.