I scowl at my fingers hovering above the keyboard. The chipped nail polish forms cloudlike figures at the center of each nail, taunting me, sending signals through the weary channels up my arms and into my head. It reminds me that only after time is spent breaking the tips of my nails in an effort to chisel the innocent, yet provocative baby blue off my fingers, will I be gifted with the ability to forget. Forget about the wedding. Forget about the hardly clothed 80-year-old cavorting in a pale pink dress. Forget that she is my new grandma. Forget that there was an old one.
But this thought racing through my head is only one of many. So I force my way out of this hole of melancholy and run over to a knotted tree perfect for climbing. I have always loved climbing. But my mental hand slips as I think of how out of shape I must have gotten. Gymnastics starts up again soon and I only went to two practices over the summer. My other hand slips, and I fall into a dank ditch of doubt. Oh, how the mind squanders itself!
I revert my eyes back to my hands on the keyboard, willing myself to type my first words. I sigh and type:
I scowl …