"What are you wearing? Is that a new perfume?"
'No. It's Burberry London.'
Audible gasp. "It's the PC perfume! I knew it!"
It's kind of eerie how nothing gets past Betty Ann.
If there was ever some mysterious murder surounding my death or I went missing she would crack the case.
She may even know more about me than I do.
Spooky.
Things are good.
But I'm definitely in the midst of some monumental transition.
I'm not really starting it or anywhere near finishing it.
I'm delightfully stuck somewhere entangled in its path.
And I kind of feel like a confused little mouse in a maze desperately wanting the damn gruyere.
I guess my overwhelming uncertainty stirred a longing for something old and familiar.
Thus my reach for the bottle of fragrance I rarely wear anymore.
It was his, afterall.
Life is so comparable.
We hardly allow it to be merely for each moments own simplicity.
We imagine what tomorrow won't bring or what yesterday lacked.
And anticipate the people we've let in promptly making their exits, as planned all along.
I have one friend, bless her heart, who no matter what is going on in my life finds some way to criticize and critique it until I wonder why I answered my phone in the first place.
There is always something missing, something else out there that's better, in her mind.
I'm settling. I'm missing out.
I'm not taking life by the Cartier boxes I should be handed and am therefore failing to meet up to my full potential.
I discovered today that there are fewer and fewer people I genuinely want to share what's going on in my life with.
Because I don't want their biases, their hidden agendas, their paranoias and prejudices clouding my happy contentment with the life I love.
Few understand me.
Even fewer accept me.
And I'd rather wait to speak to those few than bombard my brain with the diatribe of the undesirables.
Solitude is less lonely than such company.
And gives ample opportunity to remember the few who reveled in my crimson smile.
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