I was texting with a girlfriend today and said something to her to which she answered “hopefully.”

I thought about it and said, “I’ve been saying that a lot lately. Hopefully.” I stopped to think why.

I guess first, I was hopeful about a lot of things around my ex’s hospitalization. Hopeful that he’d get help. Hopeful that he’d be committed for longer than he has been. Hopeful that he’d quit calling me, to try to get me to back up his delusions. Now I hope that he won’t hurt anyone when he gets out. I hope I don’t worry about it.

Then there is my friend, and I’m hopeful that someday he addresses the problems that caused our falling out. Not necessarily with me, but at least with himself. I hope he can be happy.

There is my son. He’s started his new promotion this week, as manager of his own store, a new store. He’s moving into his first apartment with a friend, out of the house where he’s been renting a room. I hope he continues his success at work, because it makes him happy, and feel good, and supports him. I hope he is successful with his passion of mixing music. I hope he finds a wonderful girl. And I hope most of all, that he’s happy. That he has a happy life. So far so good.

Me? I hope I continue to have a happy life here. I hope I meet a man who just wants to love me and be with me. Just me. I hope I lose 10 more lbs.

I hope my friends are happy. I hope tRump doesn’t blow the world up. I hope when we die, we don’t.

Love and light, to all.