I remember when some night years ago in my sister’s dark green Honda Accord she told me about making a wish on 11:11. And I remember watching some indie film with Glenn Close (Safety of Objects?) where one of the climactic scenes is her saying when you pray BE SPECIFIC. And somehow those proved to be two good things to keep in mind when I spent my lonely, depressed, and sometimes anxiety ridden days catching an 11:11 on the digital clock now and then, on the oven or in the car. And I made some specific wishes. That I wanted to die knowing I had been loved, truly. That I wanted to share a drink on my back porch for nights and nights with the one I love. And as I type this I realize what a hopeless romantic I’ve been despite mentally being a cynic. I’m practically Nicholas Sparks over here.
But it’s worked. I share my evenings that are turning colder outside having a drink with Sonny when he gets off of work. We talk and sometimes listen to music. Last night I introduced him to Joanna Newsom and Iron and Wine after he played Neutral Milk Hotel. We cook. We take his grandfather to Church on Sundays. We snuggle; we get it on constantly. Laugh, disagree, make plans, joke and simultaneously complain about the kids. I am just very grateful. There’s a peace that I feel now.
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