My muse is gone. The little two year-old snot-nosed bundle of bounce left yesterday with his mother to fly home. My house has not felt this empty and lonesome since the last time they came for a visit (and left, subsequently).
I don’t have the strength to write a real post today. I’m too sad about my hollow house. When I got home from dropping my sister and her baby off at the airport, I went down to “their room” in our basement, and literally wept. (Dramatic, much?) I know it’s so cheesy, but she’s my only sister. She’s one of ten—maybe even five—people in the world who truly know me and accept me as I am. So cut me some slack for mourning the time I won’t get to spend with her until Christmas (and it’s only maybe Christmas, at that).
I feel weary.
Luckily for you, before my favourite sister and nephew departed, I mustered up the energy to write a guest post for my friend Rachel over at Dreaming of the Country. Rachel is British, and as you know, I love the British. I used to think I could even become English if I tried hard enough. Obviously, that didn’t happen, but you’re welcome to swing by Dreaming of the Country to see what happened when I finally visited the glorious Motherland for the first time. (Here’s a hint: Awful photography is involved {and included.})
The post is here.
Do me a favour, if you will: Comment on Rachel’s blog, so I don’t feel like a lame guest poster (even though I actually am). It would help lift my spirits today.
Pingback: Archives of Our Lives » Get Up.