I've been thinking all morning about what I should write about today. Do I write about Barack Obama? Do I write about my disappointment that Prop 8 in California passed? Do I write about my feelings about politics, and the state of the world?
Do I write about the fact that my weigh-in yesterday didn't show me the numbers I wanted, or that I've stepped up my exercise, or that I need to remember to find my tape measure so that I can track my quest for a healthier body that way? Do I write about my struggle with not labeling my food choices as good or bad, and working on not being ashamed of the food choices I make?
Well, at some point, I'll likely write about all of it (and I was worried I wouldn't have anything to say! Ha!), but today didn't feel like the right day for an in depth look at any of it, as I'm suffering from a bit of an emotional hang-over. So I wondered, what the heck would I write about?
Then, around about 10:30 this morning I wandered into the kitchen at work to rinse out my yoghurt cup and I saw the woman who does the cleaning in my office building. I am ashamed to say that I don't know her name, but we have been exchanging pleasantries every weekday for the past six months. When she was gone for two weeks a couple of months ago, I worried that I wouldn't see her again, that she had been transferred to a different building. When she came back, I told her that I had missed her, and found that I meant it. She had been on vacation to South America, her place of birth, to see her family. It was the first time she'd been home in fifteen years, and she told me how much she enjoyed seeing her mother and siblings, and her daughter who had stayed behind when she came to Canada.
This morning, she said to me "You weren't here last week, and I missed you." It brightened my day to know that I am a part of her world, in the same way that she is a part of mine. I think that tomorrow I will introduce myself properly.
ETA on Friday: her name is Marta.