Cold.

I hear the sound of a spoon in a bowl. Who could possibly be up already? It’s not yet 6 am.

How is it already the 3rd day of April?

I am still holding this story of not being enough. I am still holing on to stories of shame.

I have to make the bed before I leave. It eases a bit of the anxiety.

Same corner in the window. Soft gray light from overcast skies. Hot chai. It’s heavy on the cinnamon today and I don’t mind. Headphones in.

The downside of being in a public place is that you can’t spontaneously break out into song and dance. You can’t rap out lout. But I’m pretty sure everyone can see me wiggling on the stool because I just can’t help myself.

I remember her name. It’s a name you can’t forget.

I apply for the internship and then email my supervisor. She asks me more specifically what it is that I want.

Having to be in two places at the same time. Multiple days a week. Tightening in the chest. Not yet having anyone else to help. One will be late. I hate being late. Cue more chest tightening.