30 minute blah blah

I have 30 minutes. I haven't penned anything much more than a grocery list in months and now I have given myself 30 minutes in the playground. The sticky, stagnant, soupy air, Elton John's Your Song being amplified from the neighbour's stereo and a snoozing boyfriend stirred my appetite to pick up a laptop and start typing something out. I've already found myself distracted by various insignificant things: the tiny sliver in my middle finger, the speedy truck that bounced as it came down the street, my hungry stomach, my worn nail polish on my toes and my disdain for The Boyfriend's laptop. The tracker pad is uber sensitive and likes to randomly hide and move my cursor. I curse it back.

We looked at a house yesterday. It was so pretty. There was this corner window in the front where I could see myself doing a lot of thinking and writing. There was a little space with a fireplace and a spot for the TV off of the kitchen. While I could see myself happy in many corners of the house, I had a hard time figuring out if I could see myself living in that corner of the city. It didn't even really feel like my city anymore, which was both thrilling and unsettling at the same time.

10 minutes...

This morning The Boyfriend got us up early because his friend was coming to do the roof. When his friend came solo, The BF was compelled to be second mate on the awful job. We had made plans to visit the farmer's market, do breakfast and such. When that plan got snuffed I sniffed, and pouted and sniffed and then slipped out the back door. I was surprised (and I don't know why) when I found peace shopping. I impulsively bought two pairs of shoes and a little mint plant. The fragrance is released by brushing a hand over the tiny leaves and this put me right in zen. One hundred and fifty dollars later...

We also had plans to go to a party tonight and I was sure that The Boyfriend would be much too tired from the hard work to be up for going. I stewed and stewed about this.

When I came back to the house he was on the roof and called to me. He came down and gave me a kiss. My heart fluttered at seeing him covered in sweat and shingle dirt. It was impossible to feel sore anymore. When I asked if he'd feel up to going out later he said absolutely.

"But there's no way I can dance," he said. I felt a pout creeping in.

"Except a slow dance with you," he added. Man does he have me figured out.

Time to take the ribs out of the oven.