Happy Father’s Day.

I sat down to write today’s post, but three glasses of red wine later…still nothing.

I eventually went through some of my older posts written on Father’s Day for some spark of inspiration, but all that got me was a walk down memory lane.

It feels weird that after all this time, I cannot bring myself to write any words of anything today. I acknowledge that I know some great fathers and men I have the utmost respect for…but when it comes to saying anything beyond the trite: Happy Father’s Day…I have nothing.

Squat. Nada. No mas.

Languid

So instead I will talk about the word, Languid. 

languid
adjective
  1. “his languid demeanour irritated her”
    synonyms: relaxed, unhurried, languorous, unenergetic, lacking in energy, slow, slow-moving
  2. weak or faint from illness or fatigue.
    “she was pale, languid, and weak, as if she had delivered a child”
    synonyms: sickly, weak, faint, feeble, frail, delicate, debilitated, flagging, drooping;

After three glasses of wine, the word that comes to mind is languid. I have absolutely no energy to do anything other than float. Float on dreams of what was, what could have been and what will never be. Or is it, what is to come?

I’m not sure, I’m feeling languid.

I wrote a post about Fathers and Daughters four years ago, you should read it. Because it is as true today as it ever was. This walk down memory lane was a reminder that more things change, the more they remain the same. While I continue to grow into the woman I’m supposed to be, and along the way that meant changing my mind, opinions and the way I approached or did things.

The feelings for and about my father…those remain the same. And at this point, that’s okay.