Up before the alarm.

I come back for a second slice of toast with butter. Simple pleasures.

I can’t put the blinds back down. I tug and tug and tug and nothing.

What’s the average though? Does it matter? Maybe not. At least not yet.

But I’d rather sit here all day with my water and this book, and this book.

I move the stools to the chairs and then back against the wall. What I’m missing is life. I need a plant, a large one. I miss my garden.

Voluntate, studio, disciplina.

I order the tagliatelle mostly because I enjoy saying the word “tagliatelle.”

I remember that Romesco usually has nuts in it so we have to wait for the steak frites. Not surprised that he subbed the fresh catch for steak. Always steak for him. I steal a handful of truffle fries.

I tell him that what really excited me is that everytime I see her she’s always wearing real clothes. Which sounds like an odd thing to say or notice, but I do. I notice things like this.