I went to the park during lunch yesterday. I was feeling so restless at work. I dragged a co-worker with me. We didn't know what we wanted to eat but we were hungry. But I didn't want to talk about anything I just wanted to DO something. So I drove. And we ended up at the park. We found some swings. I haven't been on a swing in years. But there they were, in the middle of an unshaded grassy area. We got out of the car and I trudged over to the swings, in my black top and heels. Did I mention the sun was out? There were two sets of swings. Three swings for little kids and three swings for older kids. I picked one of the latter and sat down and started to swing. I almost felt like a kid again. Except I kept seeing my heels. And my butt was starting to burn. I remember not having much fear as a child. I would swing really high and then jump off. I thought, for a minute, about trying it. Then I remembered I'm not 10 anymore. Plus, I'd probably have twisted my ankle. We swung for a while, til my behind couldn't take the searing pain anymore. I have a good friend. We sat together on a bench in the shade afterwards. Then I thought I really shouldn't let him starve so we left to find something to eat.
There aren't that many people who I consider tried and true friends. B has been around since college. Thanks to me (and I never let him forget it) he has a great-paying job *and* he gets to work with me. We sit in opposite cubes. We talk all the time. All. The. Time. He's good peeps. His wife is cool. His children are my children (not literally, but you know what I mean). I love them.