The Lemon Diary
Pocket Full Of Lemons
On weekends my days run the same. This is how the schedule seems to be moving me: wake up, scrounge around the kitchen pantries and fridge for something at least half edible, eat, go straight to computer, type in Playlist.com, click Play, type in MySpace.com.
I sit and listen to Blue October and either Shawn or myself is the first to send the message. The message that lately reveals so much comfort and casualty, it usually starts out something like:
Gooood morning! Send on my part. If he's online, a minute to receive on my part.
morning, Charlotte! how are you doing this fine day?
Pretty good! How are you? =) Just woke up. Ate a scrambled egg sandwich. Send.
Every morning we said our hellos, shared what we had to eat that day, shared what our plans were for the day, all the tiny details that mattered in our daily lives, we shared those too. Then suddenly it became routine and something that mattered in each others daily conversations.
It's so easy to settle into routine, to sit on your cloud and get comfy. But it wasn't a cloud I was sitting on--it was a big, fat lemon. I just hadn't realized it yet.
I sit and listen to Blue October and either Shawn or myself is the first to send the message. The message that lately reveals so much comfort and casualty, it usually starts out something like:
Gooood morning! Send on my part. If he's online, a minute to receive on my part.
morning, Charlotte! how are you doing this fine day?
Pretty good! How are you? =) Just woke up. Ate a scrambled egg sandwich. Send.
Every morning we said our hellos, shared what we had to eat that day, shared what our plans were for the day, all the tiny details that mattered in our daily lives, we shared those too. Then suddenly it became routine and something that mattered in each others daily conversations.
It's so easy to settle into routine, to sit on your cloud and get comfy. But it wasn't a cloud I was sitting on--it was a big, fat lemon. I just hadn't realized it yet.