Today, I write.

Clearly, I don't write often enough.  Not for my own satisfaction at least.  I want to tell stories of my day, my week, my month...you get the idea.

July shot by.  The 4th was...eventful.  I was in Marquette.  A parade.  The beach. Fireworks.  All interlaced with other things. New friends and old friends.  Drama.

And then I was off to Minnesota for a weekend.  I needed that SO much.  Back to the lake.  To the cabin.  To where I can forget everything else for a few days and just enjoy the water and the sun and my family (and a few friends when I can, when they are available).

Oh and I'm single now.  Actually, really, single.  I don't know what to feel yet. It's been a few months now - the summer - and I still don't know what to feel.  And we aren't really talking...not much.  I just don't know how to handle it.  My best friend has been ripped out of my life like a band-aid.  A particularly sticky band-aid at that.  One that leaves a residue that takes a few days to really go away.  Except it's been longer than days.  The only real way I can deal with it is to not think about it.  Prioritize other things.


But I'm healing.  Hanging out with friends. played Frisbee yesterday here at home and a few times throughout the summer in Marquette.  The other day, I went swimming in the river with two friends who are sisters.

It's funny how we use the term friends sometimes.  We do have friends, of course.  People we see all the time, or at least keep in contact with.  But then there are people we hardly talk to that we still label as friends.  They are more like people we acquire into our lives.  Sometimes we talk to them and sometimes we don't.  But these two - these sisters - are old friends.  We may not keep in touch as much as good friends do, but we go way back.  A friendship rooted in upbringing and beliefs and comradery.  I call them friends.

Your's In Writing