(This should have been yesterday’s post but I’m a busy gal and didn’t make it on and oh goodness, I’m tired of apologizing for never having computer time…)

The house is disgusting and everything is behind and I still haven’t fully unpacked (dirty laundry not withstanding) and I promised the girls a finger nail polish party in the backyard but…

Friday night.
Late.
Ish.
The night of a day that felt like two days at least.
Early flights give extra time.
Standing in a grocery store parking lot.
Shaw’s.
I think.
His back against his car and me in front of him.
Kissing.
And saying,
“There’s something in the air”.
A night smell like no other, the next few days full of possibility once again.
Bags of food in the trunk.
Dunkin’ Donuts Coollatta thingies in the front, melting and delicious.
Wanna know a secret?
The grocery store trips are my favorite part.
Well, as far as outings go anyway.
He thinks I might love Target more than him.
And he could be right
Except for the fact that I love going to the grocery store.
Even more than Target and all of it’s glory.
I’m not sure if it’s because of the wider selection of * everything *
Or if it’s because of the company.
I’m guessing on the latter.
There is something about grocery shopping with my American Boy.
We were born to do it together
Even if we do end up buying more than the cream we went in for.
A lot more than the cream we went in for.
The fixings for taco salads, complete with tortillas to make edible bowls.
Spreadable cheese and flavoured crackers.
Iced tea.
Mini Danish-like things.
And cream for the coffee in the morning.

Oprah Winfrey might need a big, cushy chair under a canopy of old trees to find her “sacred space”
(I know this because I read her magazine on the plane home yesterday)
I find my own in the crook between his neck and shoulder.
He reaches into me
Through the garbage of my past
And digs through the noise of my thoughts
Quieting everything in his path
As he roots around until he finds the one spot left in me
Still untainted by pain
And not yet jaded by everything that’s defined me for so long.
And he pulls
And pulls
And pulls
And sometimes it’s a struggle
But many times it’s not
And every time he manages to pull it right out of me.
That little piece of myself
That little piece of the real janet
That little slice of purity.
Happiness.
And joy.
With a smidge of hope for good measure.

That Friday night in the parking lot of the grocery store that real janet stood up front
Proud
And happy.

“There’s something in the air”
We said.

And you know what?

There was.