Woke-ish

 Dear Lorenzo,

I cannot fucking believe that I'm awake right now. It's Saturday, 9:14 a.m. and I SWORE to myself that I would sleep in today and do absolutely NO work around the house but...

Here we are.

I have BAGS of clean clothes to fold and put away, a kitchen full of dirty dishes to wash, and a bathroom sink that is still stained yellow from whatever painting project your daughter undertook several nights ago when she was supposed to be asleep.

Most Saturdays I wake up fully energized, ready to work out and start cleaning as soon as the sun comes up but...

Not today.

I stayed up well past my usual 9:00 p.m. bedtime, watching a movie on Netflix. And unlike my usual late night fare, The Lost Husband was NOT a comedy. It was the touching story of a woman who moves her family to her aunt's farm to heal after the death of her husband. It was the type of slow-paced, quiet movie that you would've hated and been pissed at me for forcing you to watch.

But the movie triggered a lightbulb for me, illuminating a troublesome realization that I've been struggling to keep underwraps for awhile now. 

In my heart, I know it's time for me to move on. Both my mother and yours have taken to dropping well-meaning and gentle reminders that despite any feelings to the contrary, it was your life that ended not my own. 

Amira, on the other hand, is neither subtle nor kind. On more than one occasion, she has threatened to set up a dating profile for me on Tinder, or even worse, CRAIGSLIST! Her fear is that I will one day become "the crazy cat lady" and apparently, she'd rather RISK MY LIFE by setting me up with the damn Craigslist Killer part 2, than live with the embarrassment of having an old maid, spinster for a mother. 

Le sigh.

I would be willing to simply keep laughing off all of our family members if it weren't for one thing.

They're right. 

I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. I think I may actually be ready to "get back out there" but, in the midst of the coronavirus, there isn't anywhere I can actually go. But...at least I can admit to being...open to meeting someone new. 

It's a start right?

Baby steps.

One day at a time.

Time heals all wounds, the longest journey begins with a single step, insert any other trite, move-on-with-your-life cliche you can think of because it all boils down to one thing: 

I'm ready to try again.

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