A continuation of this post, but in my own words.
There is no vanilla ice cream.
The sun is a bit too bright.
The car is a little too loud.
There isn't anymore bread bowls and the soup is milky at the end.
The fry cook is being too friendly.
I feel damp.
This beach is too crowded.
(Otherwise it was a wonderful-sunny-70degree-January day on the Oregon coast)
An excerpt from 'I'm Pretty Comfortable, But I Could Be a Little More Comfortable', from the book 'Can't and Won't' by Lydia Davis
The people in front of us are taking a long time choosing their ice cream.
My thumb hurts.
A man is coughing during the concert.
The shower is a little too cold.
The work I have to do this morning is difficult.
They have seated us too close to the kitchen.
There's a long line at the shipping counter.
I'm cold sitting in the car.
The cuff of my sweater is damp.
The shower is weak.
They're quarreling again.
This soup doesn't have much taste.
My navel orange is a little dry.
This was a walk about 3 months ago. I saved it as a draft, and then forgot it.
I also don't remember what I was thinking about or what my worries were, but I think that is the important reminder here.
Today I just wanted to share some beautiful things that are no longer.
Lately I've been trying to remember what it felt like to be a kid. The way everything felt like an adventure, looked so much bigger than me, possibilities were endless in any situation. I think I'm ready to live that way again because really, nothing has changed except me.