I saw this quote, one day is worth two tomorrows, printed on a tiny notebook, part of a notebook 3-pack, the kind you find at a discount department store. Reading it made me think of the day The Rock (hubster) and I held hands and floated on top of the water, enchanted by the sea turtles swimming gracefully through the blue, blue water below us, and how much that one day was worth to me in the moment, and how much more that day is worth in memory.
My friend, Jenn, sent me a short email: "Help me get that evil witch out of my head!" she said. Then she probably dashed off to do the very thing the mean ol' shrew told her she'd never do, stepped into the light, where all of the magic that is my beautiful friend, Jenn, sparkles.
I have my own witch. I wake up to her daily lecture. She raps on the lectern with her #2 pencil while I push off the covers. "Ahem, let's review," she says, and then she recites the list, my failings, a very long list. I listen and walk to the sink. "You will never be a real writer," she says while I brush my teeth. I spit the toothpaste into the sink and say, "Yeah, well I'm leading an interesting life, and I write about it." Then she suggests some kind of liquid in a needle or plastic intervention for wrinkles while I wash my face. I smile into the mirror just to piss her off.
She rants on, shouts, "You will never get it all done!" while my dogs lead me down the stairs to the door, to the backyard, into the morning and the birds' songs. I follow the dogs, my guides, their wavy fur and alert ears. "To hell with her," I say to myself, and step into the heart of my day.
