Happy trails

Before he left, The Doctor left a bag at my house. Nothing important in it, don't worry. (I may have checked.) We tried tried tried to coordinate a time to exchange it. And then it was the last night, and I was busy, and he was busy, and we were too busy for each other, we always were, and so I left said bag on his porch on my way home from one of my busy activities.

While driving, I had an obsessive (one of many, mind you) thought process about whether to leave a note, and then of course I'd leave a note, but wait! do I have any Post Its? anything other than an old bar receipt? (Hey last impression, great, yeah, a receipt for cheap beers. A receipt for taking you too seriously, too personally, a receipt for drinking you away.) After frantically searching my purse and any other nearby locale (glove box, floorboards, the back part of the seat with the storage area, does that have a name?), I was at a loss. Nothing. Why did I take that stationary out of my purse last week?! #&@*%! But. I eventually found blue Post Its. And then I decided to obsess over what to say. I wondered how my handwriting looked. Wondered if I was an idiot for finding myself in this predicament. Didn't we already have this blog post? Didn't we talk about not getting involved? About how you know yourself too well and you should have been done done done with this months ago? That didn't stop this blue Post It madness, don't you worry.

I wasn't satisfied with my first attempt at "Happy trails" with a smiley face, and then I worried about whether to sign my entire name or just my first initial? Is it more personal with just the first letter? Maybe it is. But what if it just makes it easier for him to forget I ever existed? What if it's that easy? I'm just a letter, just a number, just a fleeting moment. A crazy moment it seems. Absolutely nuts.