I still can’t write about Sunday. The words won’t come.
I can tell you it started with a freckled-face beauty making me breakfast and ended with me holding back that same beauty’s red hair as she threw up.
So, let’s talk about something else, shall we?
I’ve started running again. I’m using a program (couch to 5k) on my phone, so I run with my phone in hand and earplugs in. So… apparently all my neighbors think I cannot hear them. In just 5 runs in my little neighborhood I have overheard the following:
A husband coming home from work to his wife saying, “about time asshole.” Followed by the little 3-year-old girl repeating, “yeah, asshole” in the cutest voice ever.
Two women comparing how big their, ummm, to use the word they used, asses are. Yep.
A child, which I could not see, screaming in a very agitated voice “no, no, no, no…not the TACO!”
An elderly woman in her robe telling her even more elderly husband who was getting out of the car with a walker, “You are not funny. You are a dirty, old man.”
A full-blown fight between a husband and wife, as the children played close by, in which I could clearly hear “bitch” and “fuck you.” Ouch.
All this leaves me with the conclusion…we are all crazy. I run by these perfectly manicured lawns (mine is not one) and I often make assumptions. We all do. But life is freaking hard for EVERYONE.
So, I’ll just keep smiling as I jog by. Even as I hear a man say “be careful” to me. I know he means well, but it makes me feel like someone my size shouldn’t run. Like he is expecting me to have a heart attack, fall down or break something. Brush it off, Bridgette. You are getting stronger and he has no idea.
I’m internally struggling so much right now and working on bravery and strength. It’s hard and it sucks. So tomorrow I’m getting out of town. I’m headed to one of my favorite places, Bodega Dunes.
I will sit on the beach and bury my feet in the sand. I will watch my children go crazy running in and out of the water. I will feel the wind on my face and listen to the waves. I will breathe.
I will share food and company with some of the most amazing people I know. I will marvel at my children’s strength as they climb up and down the dunes and create things. I will sit around the fire and feel the warmth and crackle of its life. I will breathe.
I will snuggle down in the tent and let the night come over me. I’ll listen to the sounds of the woods and others escaping from their lives. I will try to forget and forgive. I will breathe.