True Story.

And as we stood squinting on the cloudless ridge, overlooking the Oakland flats and the whole of the sun-reflecting Bay, I realized _____.

And as my sneakers imprinted a pseudo-fossil in the dense mud, and the high notes of laughter pealed behind me on the trail, I recognized ______.

And as I leaned against the door frame and jokingly informed my visitor that I would indeed outlive my cat, the conviction came that _____.

And as I tore another rakishly handsome man out of the GQ my friend had delivered me, I thought to myself, Perhaps ______.

Scanning the scrawled, fading prices written years before and now magneted to my refrigerator door, I considered the destinations, Barcelona, Maui, Paris, and I knew _____.

Considering what would happen when all this was done, I look out over the pages of the 2013 calendar to March, and wonder ______.

Pulling off my stocking cap, exposing my hairless scalp to the high-end thrift shop, and pulling on the ridiculous fur-covered Cossack one, a 10-year old boy grins conspiratorially at me, and I internally affirm that, Yes, ______.

Brushing popcorn crumbs out of my bra as the credits roll and my companions break down the ending, I smile, recognizing that maybe, just maybe, _____.

Three neat packages stood angled at my apartment door, and as the giddy curiosity flushes my veins, ______.

Peeling the aluminum foil back from the paper plate, the pecan pie sat tempting and glutinous, and I figure, ______.

And when my friend tells me, as so many have lately, that she loves my blog, that my writing invites her to examine her own life and choices, that indeed I already am doing something with my writing, I allow myself to hold the compliment and to fully acknowledge that _____.