And the days when nothing goes right; when you come home bruised and battle weary those are the days the pants get bunched up by the front door after a frustrated slam. To hell with all y’all.
And the days when I’m exhausted; if I don’t set the alarm I’ll sleep for at least a year…maybe 2 years those are the days when the pants get bunched up by the tv couch. I typically fall onto the couch face first hoping my face mashes into the remote to turn on the tv.
And the days when it’s going smoothly; surprises are sweet those are the days the pants get bunched up somewhere along the way to my bedroom on the epic quest to claim my pjs. I’ll inevitable be late the next morning hunting for those discarded pants which still treasure my wallet.
And the days when it’s Summer and the Sun shines bright with promise and hope and youth and vitality; it’s a long weekend and road trips are being plotted those are the days the pants get bunched up by the front door as I multitask opening the door and pushing em down. What do I care what the neighbors think…this ain’t the 1950s. Mrs. Chan can’t speak English: gossip can’t hurt you if it’s not in English.
And the days when there’s an amazing NBA game on and I’m late I burst through the door like Batman through a Gotham skylight and I rush to the tv letting gravity do the work those are the days the pants get bunched up around my ankles and I’ll just stand there catching up on what I’ve missed until either a full timeout out or if I haven’t missed it a halftime. And then all I do is just sit down. I made it. I didn’t think I would. Life is good.
Nobody we love is complicated or difficult to love if we know how to read the signs.
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