I regret to inform you that I am away from my desk this upcoming week.
I am traveling. Exploring. Scavenging. Blazing a trail through the streets of Manhattan. I am that tiny girl with braces and a camera that looks thirteen but speaks old language phrases like “shall” and “thusly”. Except, there’s the incessant horns, sirens, and winds, which means I’m shouting every word—but really, that’s not new.
I am in New York.
Hello people of the world.
It’s been a while since I’ve written a rambly post. Straight from the hip. No points. No previous thoughts.
No preparation whatsoever.
I’m such a dedicated little blog post writer.
“So, Rebekah, what are you doing later?” Daniel asks me.
The clock on my phone reads 9:45pm. I squint at Daniel like he’s lost his mind. “What do you mean later?”
I blink three times, slowly. I planned on scurrying home and brewing a fresh mug of chamomile. I planned on stretching out the tendonitis in my wrists and wishing the dog sweet dreams. I planned on tidying my shoes and checking the status of my teeth. I planned on saying my prayers.
This was about the point I realized: I am a 22-year-old grandma.