Confession: I’ve been tanning.
Truth: I know it’s bad. I don’t need a lecture. The simple truth is that I’m planning on soaking up some sun in Florida next month and I don’t want to be miserable with a sun burn. Furthermore, I feel prettier when I’m less pasty white.
Confession: I burned.
Truth: Last week I went for 5 minutes and did not burn. A few days later I went for 10 minutes and did not burn. The next time I went 15 minutes and did not burn. Yesterday I was in a different bed and 20 minutes burned. Before I went in I even asked the guy, “Is this bed any stronger or does it have new bulbs?” He assured me they were the same age and should be about the same. He was wrong. The burn is not nearly as awful as some of the sunburns I’ve had in my life, but it’s enough to make me think twice before scooting or wiggling.
Confession: I was with Dad this morning and we saw a car with a biohazard sign on the door. Dad laughed and said, “You need one of those signs for your truck.”
Truth: His joke was funny. I’m messy and my truck is no exception, but I don’t think we need to go so far as to get a biohazard sign. I’m not sure if my truck is cleaner now because I’m doing a better job or because I rarely go anywhere but the gym or the grocery store. Maybe both?
Okay, enough of the truth and confession. I guess this is sort of the elephant in the room so I will go ahead and talk about it. Next Tuesday would have been Emma’s 8th birthday. On the 27th she will have been gone one year. I don’t really have a lot to say about it. It sucks and I don’t really even know what to think of it. It’s really just one more day that will pass, but the date on the calendar brings up memories and strange emotions. That’s all I have to say about it.