Ten.One Thousand

1. I hear a thud. I check the house, nothing seems out of place, no kid out of bed. 3:18am. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep again.

2. Just writing “One Thousand” gives me chills.

3. Olive oil cake for breakfast. The downside of the french press means that the coffee gets colder faster.

4. The scent of grated oranges.

5. I try to calm myself, but I can feel the anxiety rising. It feels like little blocks on the sternum and larynx. It feels like mild nausea. I even take deep breaths, but that doesn’t seem to alleviate it.

6. I just want him to stop coughing.

7. We ride around the neighborhood. I list gratitudes: the weather, the scent of orange blossoms, the green of the hills, clear skies. The timing couldn’t be more wrong, but it also couldn’t be more right. Every mistake had led me here. Every mistake a sacred thread.

8. He’s giving me permission to choose something different.

9. I still feel the blocks. I take the journal to the hammock and stare into the sun. I should be wearing sunblock. The sun feels good. I let the hammock sway.

10. I’m not normal, and I like it that way.