Does writing a day into memory lessen its significance on my life if I do it while taking a shit? Or is it lifted to a new, holistic experience? My body is processing. I am living, experiencing, and following through on years of evolutionary planning. When I sit on a porcelain throne and remind myself why I don’t eat Burger King anymore, all while recollecting it for tomorrow, I perform a trifecta of recollection.
As of right now I am experiencing a whole new level of data logging. I am remembering why I don’t put monarchical fast food down my gullet, I remembered to write tonight (before the actual day I’m recounting ended), and when I look back on this entry I’ll remember hating my bowels.
But for now the world is at rest. We watched Frozen II as a family, and boy oh howdy were there a lot of songs. Chock-a-block with songs. Absolutely dripping with musical numbers. But Amelia like it, and it brought us together for an evening experience.
Marie is leaving for a school trip very early Monday. She’ll be gone five days (Monday-Friday) and four nights (Monday-Thursday). By the time she’s expected to get home it will technically be Saturday, but I’ll get to hold her in my arms again so it won’t matter. We had a serious discussion today. I got some things off my chest and it felt very good to say. I’m grateful she allowed me to speak my feelings in such an open, honest way. Luck gave me an eternal sparkle when they put Marie into my life. I live for her. So, by extension, I shit for her, too.
To Marie: I really fucking love you, dude