There are some days you think you’re fine.
And someone posts on a writing forum, wanting information about Destin, Florida.
“Destin? I just drove through there for a wedding! I should post a response about how beautiful it was!”
Because it was beautiful. You loved it.
So you start to post a response. Then you think of the vacation information the bride gave to everyone. You pull it out from under pictures and a package you’ve been meaning to send.
You go back to posting the response, searching the information for relevant facts.
But all you can think about is the drive to drop off his rental car. The stop at Goodwill and the red dress you wish you tried on. You actually ate an omelet that day and liked it. You hate eggs.
You want to tell this stranger that it’s a beautiful quaint little area and you can’t wait to go back.
But what you really mean is you want to go back with him. You’d fly to the closer airport, stay at a different house, but eat at the same restaurant with the OK omelets.
You want to help this fellow writer continue her story of Destin, Florida but you can’t.
You’re pretty sure you’ll never go back. Your story is over. But you almost erase the words even as you type them because it just can’t be true. It was too beautiful to give up yet.
And that’s when you realize you’re not fine, and you’re in no shape to help anyone.