Mom called me last night while we were having dinner. “Call you back in about ten minutes,” I promised her, then for the next ten minutes tried and failed not to think about why she might be calling me.
Mom doesn’t call me. I call her. It’s one of those unspoken agreements. When she does call me, it’s usually because she’s got something important to tell me. And with everything as awful as it is, I was more than a little anxious about what it might be.
So I bolted my food, then called her. Turned out she just wanted to tell me her cabin fever is the worst it’s ever been, which was a huge relief. We commiserated for a while, sharing our stories about not going anywhere and not doing anything, with an added dash of oh my god what’s wrong with people thrown in for flavor. It was a nice call. Thank goodness.
This Is Drivel 