In the Groundhog Days of this and last year, I am missing being pretty. It’s not something I yearn for, but like the twinkling of warm spring sun, I’m aware of how much I’ve missed such things.
I am grateful for the variety of dog walks I can go on, not having to commute, not being ill, being employed, having my family safe, and being able to pick which shop I buy groceries from: such things bring me happiness and contentment. To share and laugh and a smile with the Ever Lovely Mrs J helps. The silliness in the mundane and the pleasure of the everyday…
And yet, there are times when I miss the sound of my heels, the feel of lipstick, or the brush of my hair on my neck. It’s been a while. Perhaps a little too long and I hope that the Centre will be open and the opportunity to be all of me will be there.
I am alive, but am I living? Mostly, yes. Like perhaps a lot of folk under lockdown, I do not have the option to do all that I need.
Big girl pants, old girl, things will get better.