I pick up strays.
Cats, dogs, kids, sometimes even grown ups. I'm a stray magnet. Apparently I've got love and energy to spare and it shows. At any rate - I don't this week. Have enough of either. This week I don't even have enough for my own people. This week full sentences take - effort. Most weeks, it isn't unusual to go at least a few days without chatting with folks other than my kids. So of course on the day when I really don't want to, I pick up a stray kid at the park, where I've taken my kids so they are occupied enough that I don't, in fact, have to speak in full sentences. And she's bossy. And persistent. And won't stop talking to me.
And then, just when I finally get rid of Ms. Munchkin, my insane neighbour, we'll call her Mindy, shows up at the park - and this requires idle chit chat, which I loathe at the best of times. (Either let's talk about who we are and what matters to us, or let's not bother. I don't get chit chat. Also, I'm terrible at it. As an aside, if I'm in a situation where it isn't, or I'm worried it isn't, appropriate to relate on that level, I come across as weird and stilted. As an aside aside, this is why I suck at big groups without large, large amounts of alcohol. As an aside aside aside - I wonder if this is why I feel so isolated, because it'svirtually impossible to have a conversation about anything real with another human being when kids are in tow...huh.)
I wonder what it means that while my energy is about as low as I think it can go with me being, you know, upright, I still manage to pick up strays? 'Cause I think if I met me in a park right now, I might stay clear. I guess that's a good thing, even if it does require me to speak in full sentences.
Maybe, just maybe, it's the universes' way of telling me I'm not actually meant to remain monosyllabic.
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