Yesterday was a mopey sort of a day — one of those hair in a bun and pjs until 3pm varieties. Last week was rough for David and I in more ways than one, and I think yesterday was feeling a little self-conscience about it all. I mean, technically the week ends on Saturday, but really, don’t we all agree that it should actually end on Friday? It makes the most sense. So I awoke on Saturday with anticipation for the week’s fresh start, but Saturday resisted. She clung to the previous week with determination in her attempt to live up to the prior week’s status quo. And I do find it worth mentioning… she can put up a good fight.
It began when I woke up to… well, let’s just say that we’re not pregnant this month. And with David being away for work all weekend, I found myself thoroughly uninspired by the day ahead. Then there’s this weather — my California soul is not accustomed to this contemptible thing called “winter.” Everything is dead. Everything.
Then suddenly it was noon, and I realized that, darn it, it’s Saturday! And I wasn’t going to let her have the last word. SATURDAY WAS GOING DOWN (bless her poor, insecure heart).
And so I painted my lips with the reddest shade of lipstick I own because, well, red lipstick is always a good idea.
I grabbed some coffee at the nearest coffee shop.
And I dragged my dog with me to Piedmont Park where we sat and watched the ducks swim idly by.
Then I stopped on a patch of the greenest grass, and I read about God’s unceasing love for me.
And I walked under old bridges with Louis Armstrong playing the most delectable tunes in my ears.
And I sat on old cobblestone steps with this furry creature.
And I was reminded that even in the dead of winter, the sun still shines. And isn’t that reassuring?