I Write. Therefore, I Am.

I crumple up the little brown bag containing the rest of the cranberry muffin. How dare I eat even that much of it? The door behind me swings open again, tiny bells jingling. Footsteps across the raised hardwoods remind me of something distant, probably a childhood memory of some retail store of my youth. People traverse the well-worn path from the door to the register, back and forth, either scurrying off in a respectable hurry or resting with a friend.. or an associate.

Something has been in the back of my mind lately, something bugging me. I can never quite pinpoint its exact location in my brain long enough to grab hold of it. It slips away again and I move on.

The skinny decaf Peppermint Mocha is doing its trick for me. The smiling baristas greet everyone with renewed enthusiasm upon each new encounter; perhaps giddy from working for a locally owned coffee shop and still in possession of their soul.

The quick-paced conversation going on directly in my left ear behind me has veered off of its professional course and is focused on the gathering of acorns. This is so refreshing. I pause to think about the squirrels gathering acorns in our yard (at the present moment only. They are given a dog-free chance to gather but a few hours a day. The dogs, definitely ticked off and mildly defiant, are no doubt counting down the seconds until they reunite with the squirrel population, once again safely overhead in the majestic trees.)

Something I must do. What was it? The 20 or so hours a week I'm putting into this volunteer fundraiser already has 15 reminders popping up, can't be that. I remembered to set up a scandalous baby #2 registry yesterday (scandalous because how dare we purge the house of larger gear after baby #1? Should we not be prepared this time?) When, in fact, the easy answer to that is.. NO.

My three hours of freedom are nearly up. I look up and around, holding on to each moment of clarity. I focus my attention on the energy slowly building back up within me, propelling me forward to lift my toddler from the ground into the air. Enabling me to lavish my entire energy stores on his happiness. Forging me through the pregnancy-induced sleep deprivation, the lonely 4am hour of the night, chasing me into submission of putting on -- and believing -- the smiling happy face to my smiling happy son.

The baristas have caught a break. A lull in the constant flow of footsteps across the hardwoods. I pause for a moment to quell the myriad of importances in the forefront of my mind. What was that thing I needed to do?

Ah yes. Write about it.