But way more crazy and painful. Working my ass off, I feel like a zombies with a s, yes.
Little restaurant with that amazing French food.
I went to see my foster mom who took me to the restaurant for the first time ever. Just the two of us. She told me she did it with all her kids so you know, humidity in my eyes. Sometimes she talks to me and I can’t really hear her –honestly not that interesting either- because I’m loving her so much at that moment. That woman. That bond.
She asked me if I wanted my picture when “she’ll not be around” and told me that I could get anything from the house to keep, even getting priority over her six kids. I’m thinking that I’d rather have her keep her stuff and live a little bit forever? No?
She’s alive and well for now though, just a bit of arthritis. Like she says “it was a very small weekend” but I always have to jump on the road early. It takes me a while to go back to my own life, parking at my parents, talking a hour while they watch CSI:Miami with terrible voiceover and finally sit here, breathing deeply and trying to stretch out as much as I can.
Next time it’s on me Mèmère.