Ten.Eighty-One

1. I sleep in again, just a little bit. It's so dark.

2. I go downstairs to find the table littered with glasses. I must have forgotten to pick them up.

2. A full pot of coffee today even though I know I won't drink very much of it. It's Tuesday and that means I meet with my mom's group, make the drive right after I take the kids to school.  

3. Yellow leaves, red leaves, brown leaves. There is still a coolness in the air at this time of morning that hints to fall. I think of the small velvet pumpkins still sitting in a plastic bag in my bedroom. 

4. We talk a little about patriarchy and the way it quietly seeps into sacred places.  

5. I offer each of them a brass cross. When I dump them into my hand, I feel the weight and temperature of the metal, flash back to the screened in porches. 

6. I make a salad of cucumber, yellow pepper, tomatoes, feta, and dill and eat it outside on the front stoop. The people next door are putting on a patio and the sounds of the wet saw and bobcat fill the air. Not so peaceful. 

7. I love how badly he wants me to succeed. Everyone should have someone who believes in them. I'd like to believe in myself a little bit more.  

8. There's a fundraiser for the school at Culver's which means I don't have to make dinner. I eat a cheeseburger with a knife and fork while staring at the backs of the heads of some neighbors. I think they might think I'm rude, disinterested. But I am in this season of sheltering. Of holding a lot in, keeping things close, needing the quiet and the warmth of my own presence. This isn't a bad thing, I don't think.

9. So many things I want to make.  

10. I eat the last bit of Reese's ice cream and think about how tired I am. It's always at this time of night that I want to name the sources of my fatigue. The list feels long.