I slam on the brakes. There I am at the school bake sale, standing over my peanut brittle. I get in the car and apologize.
Seven blocks later, yep. Sitting at the coffee shop with my laptop working on the report. “Get in the car!” I yell at myself. “It’s almost dinnertime.”
Across town, at the farmers market, I finally find six perfect apples for the pie. I leap in.
That must be my 90th lap around the park. Enough already!
My husband has gotten used to me going out for a drive before dinner so I can collect myself.
Author’s Note: We live in a fractured world. Lots to do and no time for pulling ourselves together.
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