So here I sit, in the afternoon heat, wishing for days of yore.  I am wishing for those days of innocent girlhood when you can just pick up the phone and talk to a friend. There’s a price to pay with our modern techno gadgets.  You lose the skill for verbal, face-to-face or even phone conversations.  I feel myself going in that direction.  I hesitate to pick up the phone and dial.  Maybe they’re busy.  Maybe I will be a bother, Maybe, yes, maybe…..And so I put the phone down.  Maybe another day.  I am envious of people who are brave to be spontaneous….people who can pick up the phone and dial, people who can drop in for a visit because they are nearby and they like to spend time with you.  It is so easy to be lazy, to hide with our texting messages and our emails and our plans.  Don’t get me wrong.  I think these are wonderful time saving tools, but as with everything else…balance would be nice.

So here I sit instead, tapping out my words and sipping coffee on a hot summer afternoon.  I wipe the sweat from my face.  I can hear the traffic whoozing down Preston Avenue through my open windows.  Do you know that Staffing has already called me twice today?  Can you believe it?  I could not even make it for my own shift yesterday.  But what do they care.  I’m just a name and a number on their call list….someone at straight time.  Though I work in healthcare, I know that I am the one who has to care for myself.  Healthcare is too big an expanse to know whether a worker is sick and in trouble.  So I am at the top of the triage to sound the alarm…health worker down!  Time out!  No need to bring all my health or other dramas to work.  That’s not what I’m paid for. That is the sad truth.  Time to refill my coffee.

I muster enough energy for my hair appointment this morning.  Somehow I always end up in the barbershop chair when I’m feeling glum.  Maybe it is just false perception….coloured by my mood, I am sure.  My hairdresser is very beautiful, blonde and European.  Her name is Beata.  I have enough confidence in her now that I don’t worry about my mood affecting how the cut will turn out.  My haircut is always fabulous.  And she does not talk too much which is nice.  I talk enough in my work life that it is wonderful to be able to sit back in her chair, close my eyes and let her razor and scissors do their work.  It is fabulous not to make small talk.  I can close my eyes and escape from all the noises of life for a little while.

I open my eyes.  My hair is short, short….just the way I like it.  But I am still looking glum.  Well, it is hot and my face is a bit swollen and puffy.  How else can I look?  All good things in time.  I am a work in progress.