More rain.

The soft gray light falling on everything. Coffee. Morning pages. The children are still asleep.

What I want to do is go back to bed.

It’s just myself, her, and her husband, which is just right for a Sunday where I’m feeling very coherent. Nerves.

Imposter syndrome.

But to share space in this way, with words, with wine, with presence and attention. We need art right now. It’s the artist who will have a big hand in shaping what is to come.

Generator, 3/5.

She says it’s like anticipatory grief. I liken it to having the Sunday blues but every day is Sunday. I don’t want to go back. Why would anyone want to go back to that?

Risotto without the Parmesan because I forgot that we didn’t have any. But it’s okay. We drink the Pinot Noir from Navarro.

Just be in response to life and trust your intuition.