I never regret when I write. Well, at least that's what I thought before I logged in to this site and then read that last thing about waiting and boo-hooing til vacation and counting down the days til Rome. Rome is full of cliches, by default of location and significance, and so is everything I write about it. Oh well, it's for me and Nick anyways.
I'm home early tonight. I'm keeping myself from packing more. I'm watching TV and loving that soon this won't even be an option for me. I'll miss the new season of the Bravo show with the arrogant young real estate guys. boo hoo. There's so much I won't miss, things that don't matter. The pile of decorative pillows on the bed, the ton of shoes, the constant presence of the dumb smart phone. There's so much we really don't need.
And so much we do. To not take love for granted. To not count it ordinary. Or friendships for that matter. To slow down and consider. To listen deeper to the words spoken and choose slower the words we speak. To stop complaining about the woes of life and find what, in this day, can be enjoyed as a gift.
It sounds like the stuff a cancer patient would say; the words of someone who knows her days are numbered. Truth is, the days are. I squander mine away, along with friendships and sunsets and a whole host of better things that are never realized until passed.
Rome is in nine days.
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