Though English can't be categorized as one of the "romantic languages", I love it all the same. While it may not be as provocative as French, or as sensuous as Portuguese, I'd still stack our American Brand of English against just about every other contender save the French and those crazy Brazilians.
Maybe I'm just prejudice, but I love all of our choices, our regional accents and eccentricities and how lucky we are to share the same core of language within our vast country, yet still have the ability to infuse a bit of regional touches and tags. I'm not terribly fond of what I hear coming out of New Joisey, but the rest of New England, including the zany, loopy properties of a proper LooongIsland
I want to write about what it feels like to be a mere week away from collecting my two year sobriety chip. I want to express how much it will mean to have my kids in attendance as I collect that blue plastic chip that looks so inconsequential but marks a two-year sea change in my sober, albeit small, life. I want to make my kids finally feel maybe a little proud to have me for their Mom - I'd settle for one-eighth of the pride I feel to have them as my children - my very grown-up children.
No, it wasn't "Sesame Street" that turned my mind to mush. Personally, I think it's either the CFC's that fly out with the hair spray, or maybe it's that smelly perm solution. I haven't truly pinned it down just yet. Maybe, I'm just tired. Maybe I need some hope. Maybe I am nursing some regrets - wistfully looking back on all the time I wasted when I could stay home and hone my craft and wishing I had the chance to do it all again.
I wonder if regret honestly serves any purpose with positive results? Should I be regretting that I sometimes have regrets?
And yes, I want to write about spring. I need some spring.