Forty-one minutes...
...and counting.
Sometimes, you have a limited window to do the thing that needs to be done.
Sometimes, you’re sandwiched in the backseat of your minivan, crammed in by a half-dozen bags, daughter next to you, engrossed in The Greatest Showman, wife in the driver’s seat…
…where she’s been for the last eight hours.
The least you can do is write something.
Forty-one minutes till you arrive home.
Home from another adventure to the land where everything’s magic and everything’s possible. Where life can be renewed and recharged. Where life can begin again, even better than before.
Thirty minutes till home.
Home to the house that needs a declutter, the backsplash that needs a makeover, the dust that won’t quit, the dreams that stubbornly stay tangled in the curtains, frantically wriggling, begging to be released and allowed to fly.
Nineteen minutes till home.
Let’s see to those curtains, shall we?
❤️
Adam