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my dad has an ipad and only an ipad, so i was instructed to facetime him by contacting him through his email address. it rang and rang and then said he was unavailable for facetime. i clicked on the “leave a (text) message.”

i need to facetime better.

i did what i always do. i went to my mom for help. i’d tried his email. i’d tried his hospital room. no answer and now i was afraid to call in case i dialed some wrong number again and/or he was asleep. she said she’d have dad call me. he did, but i spent the majority of the conversation looking at the wall and not his handsome face.

dad needs to learn how to facetime better.

it’s been a day full of snow and waiting.

a pre-op photo showcased my dad’s legs at an angle i’d never viewed them from. i was surprised to realize i have his legs. he may be 6’4″ and i may be 5’4″, but our legs are the same shape. if only he could have also bestowed his sense of direction and mathematical abilities on me as well.

and now, the snow continues, but the waiting has stopped with the news that my dad made it through his double knee surgery replacement like a champ. *heaves sigh of relief*

her: *holds left leg* just push up.

me: *completes headstand*

her: have you done this before?

me: in life, yes. in yoga, no.

as she left me to my own upside down devices, i realized the world truly does look different upside down.

outside as the snowflakes of the marathon storm (a predicted 85 hours of snow) floated softly down and landed on my puffy black coat, i reveled in how beautiful the world is in black and white.

as i stood on my counter in a desperate attempt to change the light bulb of a fixture on a 12 foot tall ceiling, i found the world truly does look different from up above everything else.

this day threatened and taunted and poked and prodded. it was a tornado of icy air and miscommunication and this platter of brownies* and get everything done and i just wanted to lie flat on the ground out of the destruction zone. the neverending bus ride left me with one slice of pizza and no company and no thai food and disappointment and salt residue caked on my boots. there was nothing to do but ride it out.

and then, N’s endless smile zapped the thundercloud over my head and it rained familiarity and warmth. a longtime friend of hers became a new friend of mine as we finally met after years of hearing each other’s names. we made another new friend in the form of a sincere, genuine, and enthusiastic author whose words, life lessons, and story hummed around the room. (the wine and chocolate didn’t hurt either.)

book talk over, we three girls wrapped our hands around warm white mugs splashed with color from the tea inside. we could have been preparing to dye easter eggs, instead, we were preparing for love.

i’m ending the night with words, this untouched platter of brownies*, and a heart full of possibility.

*the brownies (allegedly one of my best batches ever) were for my mechanic, but after carting them around the past two days each time the plumber called me back to my apartment (in hopes the mechanic would call simultaneously with the news my car was ready and i could combine the two errands), the mechanic called with news that a defective part was delivered and they’re still waiting and i’m still waiting and the car won’t be ready until wednesday, maybe thursday, now friday…how long are homemade brownies good for anyway?

it’s a mob scene in my mind.

nothing seems to get done on the first try. not my sink. not my car. not my condo hunt.

so much of anxiety lies in the waiting for things to happen.

the plumber fixed one leak (thought it was the leak) but the wet footprints smacked on my floor from his shoes from the snowy outdoors was more foreshadowing and less of a chore to clean up.

around and around and around.

advice given. advice taken. being an adult sucks, except for the part where i can eat ice cream for dinner.

so much good news from internet friends.

so much bad news from forecaster friends.

how long can one sustain such a roller coaster of emotions and still survive?

drinking tea from my “write like a motherf*cker” mug is too delicate. i’m too delicate. i need to write no matter what. why can’t i? why don’t i want to?

re-reading the HARRY POTTER series has been a blessing in disguise because the beginning of this year has been fraught with feelings and diving into those books wraps me up like a hug from a familiar friend. i can read them when i’m anxiously tapping my foot while the plumber does his plumbing…

putting those plastic coverings over your windows is 1,000,000x harder than the four step sequence on the box. here’s hoping extra slivers tapped on because i cut it too short still block out the drafts from icicle laden air.