Body aches. A culmination of things. Moving slowly.

A series of odd dreams with familiar faces and places, songs, and me uttering phrases that do not make sense, except for this one: It is good to have you back.

Cold.

The space between feels heavy.

We drive down the trail in silence. I stare out over the vineyards and the hills and the wispy clouds. Golden light spilling into the shadows between the rows.

This year, I will be better.

Being a teenager is rough.

I keep reminding myself that is this isn’t us. This is us under these really bizarre and uncomfortable circumstances. This is temporary.

But when will we feel normal again?

I really do genuinely like these people.