Awake but not getting up. Choosing stillness.

Fear that the day will go by quickly and I will have “wasted” it. What would it mean to “waste” a day?

Flashes of hot pink in the sunrise.

Weekly review. Upcoming dreams. What do I feel like right now?

I spin around in the chair and look at him. “What do you think about going to the ocean?”

Windows up with an unlit cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. How long will he let it sit there before lighting it? Where is he going? Will he need to smoke it before he arrives at his destination? Does he want to mime the act of smoking? Are the windows all up because it’s still very chilly and a little misty, and those are less-than-ideal conditions for smoking in the car?

The trees and the grass. The softness of the landscape before you get to the rocky shore.

Jellyfish as big as dinner plates. All of them dead. Kids playing in the water with no shirts on, just shorts, legs frosted with sand.

One can of West and Wilder Chenin Blanc, crackers, Purple Haze goat cheese, Point Reyes Toma, salami. We park at a lookout and eat while staring out into the bay.

“I don’t want to be a rancher, but it is awfully nice and quiet out here.”