Someone is sitting on my journal, so I'm writing this in my head. The babysitters are doing everything they can to amuse my daughter with their sweetly inappropriate ironies, but she's not having it. It's a great honor to be someone's safest place, but when I'm supposed to be someplace else, it's like being conscripted into impersonating a piece of furniture.
My lap, my journal, and I long to be alone together on the lumpy floral couch halfway between the nursery and the Sunday School classroom.
But wait... I've left that solitary existence behind.
I'm a wife and a mother, of course, so it's hard to even be solitary in the shower. But now we're thinking of joining a congregation - something I never thought I'd do - it's absurd to think I'd find time to myself in the midst of a Sunday morning community.
I'd left the church that claimed me from birth and wandered happily in the land of the faithfully unaffiliated. Moving now with this Unitarian Universalist Fellowship isn't the path to the gods I was supposed to take either.