I have this vision of being buried under a giant pile of debris. I wake up. I realize I shouldn’t be where I am and I fight my way through the crap, knocking off boxes and broken junk, freeing myself, standing up straight on two wobbly legs-

The sun beats warm on my face

The air smells fresh

The sky overhead stretches blue and beautiful

I can’t get enough of the moment.

We’ve been fighting down the flu in our house for about a week and a half. It’s sort of suffocating, isolating yourself in your house, away from everyone and trying not to spread all the germs. ICK. But now we’re free! My son, my daughter and yes, I swore I wouldn’t get it because my husband never gets sick, but never swear. The flu is a mean little bug.  It found me anyway and tackled me down with a vengeance. 

So even though I stole this vision from my 7^thgrade history teacher, recalling a story he shared with the class about how he’d cope if a tornado every struck our building, his being a way funnier version using student bodies instead of rubble, the story in some weird way just fits.

There’s always a light somewhere. There’s an end to the way you feel and a beginning of something else. The flu is done in my house. I still feel a little under the weather, but I’m drawing the line.

I’m waking up tomorrow and I’m hitting the day as hard and fast as I can. 

I’m going to let life fill me up and be a version of myself I LOVE, all over again.