titles are not important

Aside from feeling amazingly weighed down the last few weeks, I feel good today. I am wearing a frilly pink shirt that makes me feel young and feminine, which are things that I don't often feel. I also NEVER wear pink, but with the amount of compliments that I have received I think that my $5.99 Ross Dress for Less purchase was a win. It also makes me feel like I should be wearing a pair of jelly sandals (a high five for anyone who knows what I am talking about).

I am aware that most of my posts lately haven't been really writing, and that I can't really explain. My flirtation with poetry has had a long and checkered past. I have notebooks filled with mediocre, whiny, high school drivel that should never, ever, ever, ever, ever....ever see the light of day again, much less be posted on the Internet (unless it was to give someone a really hearty laugh, because that would be the only thing they are good for). I also am aware that the poetry posted on this self-indulgent blog is also mediocre and whiny but I guess that's probably just as good as my poetry is ever going to get.

Anywho.

Today while walking back from the mail room I saw a sweet older women with her grown daughter sitting in our Audiology waiting room. They sat quietly next to each other. The daughter reading from a TIME magazine and her mother just sitting, staring. The mother broke her gaze and reached down and began to rummage in the bottom, she pulled out two pieces of cellophane wrapped candy. She held it out to her daughter and asked if she "would you like a sweet?". That? That right there sent tears to sting my eyes and smile to my face. This tiny moment, the aging mother who sits here, with the help of her daughter, still needing to mother after all these years. It made me want to collapse on the floor in fits of sobs for the sweetness of it, it made me want to call my mom and tell her much how I love her, it made me miss my now passed grandmother, and for just a moment I could that mother, years younger, sitting with her little girl in a similar waiting room, daughter kicking her legs and fidgeting in her chair and that same mother reaching down, finding her purse, and offering that little girl "a sweet" to occupy her mouth and mind in the those slow moments before the doctor comes.

This post makes no sense, but I don't care.