Ten.Six Hundred & Thirty-Eight
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Monday.
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I can’t find the jeans I want. Maybe I didn’t put them in the dryer yesterday. These are too stiff and too low. I’ve come to love the support of a high-waist jean.
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It’s just flexing the muscle.
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I fill up my mug one more time before I get in the car. My hands are too full. He has to hold things for me so that I can get into the car without dropping it all. They were all waiting for me.
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“Hey, baby. I mean, Hi ma’am, how are you?” I smile while I wait for my receipt and then laugh as I make my way over the bridge.
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My first time driving myself up to wine country on my own since we’ve lived here. To settle my nerves I look for poppies and mustard. I find turkey vultures atop fence posts.
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He grew up in Brentwood. What a small world. I get a cup of coffee and walk around the grounds. I sit in front of a fountain, touch the petals of the succulents, look at the people sitting on porch swings. This place is really like stepping into another dimension. It’s only good vibes.
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The drive back takes me on a road that sits next to marshes. The horizon is one long string of hills and mountains blanketed in fog and haze. I live here among the hills now.
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Maybe the drive was today’s meditation.
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You gotta bottle those feelings.