Left High and Dry

A while back I was reminded by Facebook of a time when I was left high and dry. Painful memories resurfacing, bubbling up to challenge my amygdala to work at full capacity.

You may not have read about it the first time, but here I will share with you the vivid memory that is still etched in precise detail deep within my limbic system, the same way those lover-vandals had etched their names ensconced in a heart in the neighbourhood oak tree years ago, causing irreparable harm to poor Oakey, who later died a slow painful death from Oak wilt.

I hope, wherever he is now living as a table or a bed, he is resting in peace, and not pieces…but I digress.

Here is my tale of sorrow and woe, read at your own peril as you may get a case of the sads. You have been warned…

I would have posted earlier but was otherwise occupied watching cat and baby goat videos, because my soul needed the levity.

It had been one of those trying days; one filled with immeasurable loss and sorrow.

This morning, I was the victim of an unspeakable crime so heinous that I must speak of it.

Someone took my mid-priced stainless steel water bottle from High Park while I was doing what I rarely do, running. They absconded with it, surely never to be seen again.

And now I will remain dehydrated.

Parched forevermore.

Photo by Natalie Thornley on Unsplash