Today I do not want to write. I want someone to bring me a gigantic pink cookie. I want to float on a boat to the Caribbean. I want to sleep until my body doesn’t need sleep anymore. I want to wash my hair in chocolate. And I want my book to be done.
Yesterday my dad got married for the second time. I wasn’t there for the first one. It was short and sweet and now they’re driving the country, going where ever they’d like to go on this beautiful Valentines Day. I’m so happy for them and also so floating like a balloon in the sky for them. It’s tough to grow up even when we’re already grown.
Do you want to write today? Will you write romance? Will you write passionate kisses? Will you write about second chances at love? I asked my husband if he was getting me a Valentine and he said, “I did. I fixed the washing machine.” And you know, it was love because the pump in that thing was full of many things: sludge, legos, paper clips, sludge, hair, body parts, sludge, cars, plastic dinosaurs, sludge and probably black mold that will kill him slowly. We probably saved 500 dollars and a doctor bill for a dead washing machine repair man. That is love. It’s better than pink cookies and boats in the sun and sleep and chocolately hair.
What if today was the last day of your life you’d ever get the chance to write about love, what would you write?