Lately I’ve been writing in the date wrong on papers.

Penciling in 2017 instead of 2016 as if I’ve fallen into some unique-only-to-me black hole and I am currently the singular resident of The Future.

Let me tell you then, guys.

It looks about the same as the present.

I’ve got no clever words to write tonight and I probably should get a little smoother and more adept at writing my blog posts ahead of time instead of my usual day-in-the-life kind of style where I write my thoughts down each evening.

It’s been a FULL day but I haven’t photographed my life very well in the past several weeks.  I don’t know why.  It’s been a good day.  But it’s been a filled-with-people day.

I LOVE people.  I love being with people.

And.

I also LOVE not being with people.

Isn’t there some word for that?  Some definition?  I bet my friend Becky knows some initials that would help me analyze myself perfectly well right now – something about J’s or something.  Words like introvert I think.

Whatever.  I don’t know the right words.  I DO know that it’s late and all of my “right” words – and plenty of my wrong ones too – have been used up earlier today and the kitchen is tidy following a group dinner with fourteen people at the table (it’s so fun to see the old wooden table be filled with faces and food and food-filled faces) and the kids are all sleeping all snug in their beds (well, one in my bed – but only one, so my personal bed real estate is still quite acceptable) and the house is quiet (but kind of cold – I will not turn on the heat until at least after November, for the love) and my buddy of a dog is dutifully snoozing and guarding me and the latest episode of This Is Us is bound to be waiting patiently for my viewing pleasure and this tremendously long run-on sentence is wearing thin.

And so.  I’m off to enjoy being quiet in my quiet house for a short while before I crash my head onto the pillow beside the cutest seven year old I know.

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