Feelings.
The whole slug of them: The juicy, the stinky, sometimes tasteless, never boring, often challenging divine mixture that makes for an adventurous thing called life.
And when they are stirred, whether to the boiling point or to a slow simmer with the sometimes unexplainable, never ordinary, often contrary divine mixture of day to day living: One's heart, soul, and mind have the incredible opportunity to make a choice and be the better.
Choice is a gift.
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Last night we came home far too late, we were at a friend's house for dinner. This morning I jumped out of bed far too early, I quickly got dressed, kissed French Husband on the side of his mouth (The side without the cold sore, the first cold sore he has ever had.) before heading out to the brocante. Once outside I stopped in my tracks, it was raining. The nearby brocante was canceled. I went back home.
"I know I am not supposed to complain about the weather," I said as I walked into the bedroom where French Husband was sleeping, "but honestly does it have to rain on Sunday, it can rain on any other day of the week!"
French Husband rolled over and said, "Come back to bed."
I would have jumped back into bed but that cold sore not stared me down.
Choice, when one's passions are not available, one is lead to seeking other options… I slept fully dressed, arms folded across my chest, on the sofa and woke up with a stiff neck.
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