NaBloPoMo 22: 9 Minutes 'til Midnight

I am, again (always), running short of minutes in which to post on this, the twenty-second day of November. It was a good day, professionally speaking, but that has left me several shades of brain dead on that score. But it was a good day: a day of booth busyness and tired feet, peanut butter cups for lunch and a hoarse voice, putting makeup on and putting more on, sliding in to a favorite dress and stripping out of uncomfortable tights. It was my brother's birthday and the most important day of my professional calendar. A day of stress and of uncontrollable laughter, of tea instead of coffee, and pitchers of sangria over our late dinner. A day of churros and chuckles and book sales and waffles and coworkers asking for "Material Girl" to be turned up in the cab. Lost parking tickets and retold stories and finally the coming into the room, the peeling off the dress, the scrubbing away at waterproof mascara, the laying down and wondering what to write to make this day mean something. The realizing that, in the weird math of regular life, a thousand little things make geometries and kaleidoscope into meaning and worth and weight. And all that was missing was you.