Joy

Joanna smiled as the sound of laughter radiated down the hallway and into her room; she tried to remember the last time she had heard this kind of spontaneous, unpracticed joy and was both shocked and saddened to realize that nothing came to mind. How had she allowed her life to become so barren, so empty of the things that made her heart the happiest? When had she become content with the status quo and more willing to exist than to live? When had making the perfect salad become more of a priority than dancing in the rain? When had getting dressed for him become more important than wearing her favorite sneakers?

She shook the questions from her head and headed toward the source of the laughter, the smile easing its way across her face, awakening the twinkle in her eye.

Good Enough

Too much or too little? Where the hell does one find just enough? From the time we enter toddlerhood, we're taught that there is too big ... accompanied by too small and the elusive just right. After all, Goldilocks ... that silly little twit ... found it, so it must be real. Why is it that as adults in the twenty-first century, we continue to blindly grasp for its intangible perfection, always clutching at air. When is 'good enough' ... well ... good enough?

Pieces of Real

Pieces of real scattered the landscape of her days, jumbled among the lies, fantasies and imaginings he fed her. They were the moments when she knew with peace-shattering clarity the glaring truth of the matter. Those were the stabbing glimpses of authenticity when she knew without doubt that he did not ... and would never ... love her as she loved him. Then came the salvation of the blessed oblivion of the make-believe, the warm cocoon of habit and routine, cloaked in the comforting shroud of denial. She made the bed, descended the stairs, started the coffee and pretended it was real when he kissed her and said "Good morning, Baby".

Then when he told her of the upcoming business trip, she smiled and pretended that was real, too.