I wasn’t going to write anything today. I wrote my SoCS post last night. I dreaded even seeing the 9th appear, just as I do every year since 2013. But as I’m crying writing this, I think Jimmy had enough willpower for the both of us. I called him Jimmy but he didn’t like it. His grandmother and I ignored his wanting to be called Jim only, but I liked the intimate feel, the friendly, inside knowledge, and privilege of it. There’s a lot to be thought in a person’s name. It shows how close you are to the person, an endearment such as honey, sweetheart, if you like.
Protests aside I always called him Jimmy, it was natural. Our first born is named James Donald, after his father and his grandfather, two perfectly ordinary names but my wanting to call our son Jimmy was the last straw and he’s always been known as Don.
I haven’t done this prompt before and I think today I just wanted to express to a stranger how I feel. Sitting here trying to stop bawling like a baby, while my seldom made up face dribbles brown lash paint and I realize it hadn’t hit me yet, the day, the date. Today I woke up thinking I need to take out the trash and my granddaughter may come over, thus supposedly needed mascara and lipstick.
I made a cup of coffee, read other blogs and even laughed at a few, got angry along with a few who expressed similar feelings about news, and tried to ignore any prompts. I just was not in the mood to write something perky. And I’ve wanted perky lately after writing about Trump so long. Then looking at this iPad, the date loomed out. I tried to ignore it, this is what happened, this is my story for today.