I am not jealous of Maegan. No I am not. And it is not interfering with my work to think of her over in Wales, gallivanting around in her rain-proof wellies, eating crumpets, and writing to the music of Celtic bands in Welsh pubs. I don’t lose a moment wondering about what her train ride to Edinburgh was like. And whether or not she might see JK Rowling as she wanders through the cobblestone streets snacking on haggis. And wondering if what they say about men wearing kilts is true.
I shall be grateful for my writing desk. In my basement. Next to the window with the broken shade so I can’t see the sunshine. And I shall be grateful for my friend Russo. Who is working a double shift. And who had to cancel dinner with me at the little Trying-To-Be-Charming soup and salad joint because of it. We’re all fine here.
But we’ll be better when Maegan gets back.
Sincerely, and without bitterness,