It’s only 3:18. There’s no way I’m going to fall back asleep.

Remember to take a Zyrtec today.

This. Behold the beauty of multi-use clothing. I iron out the wrinkles and slip it over my head.

It’s good to see her face. Really see her and talk to her. I think of her forsythia and the big maple in front of her house. I think of her last October under the umbrella at Scribe.

I tell him that all of my friend-chats this week start with J: Jennette, Julie, and JJ! He is not as amused as I am.

They’ve outfitted them with black masks, everyone.

I tell him that I actually can’t listen to his albums anymore. That I literally wake up every day with one of his songs stuck in my head. We laugh. But seriously, no more.

She asks if she can make lemon bars. I point to the small pile of lemons on the chair that I collected this morning.

I miss their delivery, but I know I needed a time out.

The thought: They didn’t like it; they hated it. In fact, she hasn’t emailed me back because they need to edit too much of it. Feeling behind the thought: Fear coupled with Imposter Syndrome. They will never ask me to write anything again; I am a hack after all. Reality: She told me they had meetings this week and that she wouldn’t even really get to it until maybe today. They may have other, more important things to address besides my tense shift. Or, the original thought could be accurate, but it doesn’t mean that I’m a hack. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.

Gratitude for tools that allow me to analyze my own thought process to keep me from spiraling.

Just point it to where you want it to go.