Old Ghosts

I am not claiming to be brave. I get scared. I am terrified of having an aneurysm on the subway, of never achieving my goals, of getting hit by a car, of not being loved. And honestly, of Zombies. But I am not afraid of the dark, of water, of heights, or of the woods. The ghosts are not going to get me there. That's where I go for safety. It's my get-away plan. I do not understand the concept of messing with people, of haunting them. Maybe I am not bold enough, not brave enough. But really, where is the satisfaction in that? I love getting the last word, don't get me wrong. Dragging things out no longer appeals to me. Go towards the light, little ghosts. Leave this place. And rest in peace.

stunted

I spent the night last night with my very close friends in New Jersey.  They are real grown-ups.
They own their own lovely home.  They have a beer fridge and a liquor cabinet. They have a two car garage and a front and back porch.
They also have two adorable children.
Playing with their kids is a highlight for me.  It isn't a biological clock thing.  It's fun.   It's plain and simple fun.
And the thing is, they know I'm not faking it.  They recognize my giggles and games as honest enjoyment.  I don't have the energy to play as long as they can, and I believe that I detected slight pity in their smiles as I said "wow, this is hard," and took my seat at the kitchen counter.
Here is the kicker, and I honestly cannot get over her timing: the beautiful three year old girl turned to me during dinner and said "You're like a grown-up kid."
Her insight shocked me.  Smart girl.
I think I may have to go over to their house to play more often.