Now, it's just me.
It's just me and sixteen months of buying one soda at restaurants to share. After we did I wonder why everyone doesn't. We probably saved over two hundred dollars drinking out of the same cup.
It's just me and my cat. I'll say it.
It's just me and a few books, and a new pair of shoes. Ok two.
It's just me and a multitude of stranger people.
It's just me, and the flour I smear off my hands onto the sides of my face as I roll out the dough at least once weekly and then eat all of it except for the six cookies I send you in tiny boxes. I guess I'll be eating those too.
It's just me and the people I work with. The best people. And my other boss--she's pregnant with a little girl fish banging around in there. I felt her move. Her mom calls her shark bait and it makes me nervous that something's going to eat her. She won't tell us the name, in case the fishie comes out looking different.
This she said to me while we rooted through a box of girdles.
It's just me trying the studying thing in my last few classes, because my botany teacher was sent directly to me from God--he gives essay exams.
It's just me being able to explain well, in red goopy pen, about the hormone that makes plants grow toward the sun. How the hormone actually grows on the side of the plant where the light doesn't get to directly, swelling the colder tissue just enough to bend the little shoot into feeling up to the stretch.
It's just me and those little baby buds on the noisy tree outside my window.
But they're there. And they'll bud.