Waving Not Drowning

There's no joy here. That's what she thinks when she looks into his pale blue crystalline eyes. A coolness settles around him. Tentative, guarded, quiet. Or mastered. Half a dozen of one... It didn't take her long to realize he was something other than what she was used to. L'autre, as they say. No wham bam thank you m'am How YOU doin' Jesus woman, you make me weak in the knees sorta bloke. Even his eyewear is sedate. There's a half smile occasionally withdrawing into a smirk. Unknowingly. A learned reflex, a laugh out loud withdrawn too soon. At this stage of the game, it's bred in the bone. Restraint. Observational engagement. Small ripples run deep. There's an undertow drawing her in but she can't tell if it's her own volition or an actual tidal pull. Full moon fever. He ebbs and flows. She wants to ride big waves. There's a quality of grace and wonder, a generosity of spirit that spills forth from  her every cel. ...

Kate's the kinda girl that wants to be resolved. She makes plans, writes resolutions, uses all caps all the time and emoticons inappropriately. Anything to create shape and direction in her life. She does this at the beginning of every new year like clockwork. It never pans out. The best laid plans, blah blah blabbity blah. This year she's starting early. She's got a whole week. More than enough time to manifest a life changing program which will culminate in a grand celebration on New Year's Eve. She'll gather up some gal pals, build a beach side bonfire; they'll drown themselves in stories of what once was, lay out dreams of what will be. Consume copious amounts of the home made Baileys she has no business drinking, all the while committing themselves to brand-spanking new vows to Make Things Happen. Time to shake out the old, ring in the new, wipe the slate clean. Tabula rasa. Just like last year. And the year before that. And so on and so forth and ...