Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Forty-One
Gratitude for this slow morning.
I am falling asleep. He asks me if I need more coffee. It’s just that I’ve waited too long to start.
A flash of anger.
Overcast morning. Cold bleachers. More coffee.
Finally, some sun. So glad it’s still only Saturday. So worried by how frequently I tell myself how happy I am that it’s only Saturday.
I’m reminded of how he said that the thing about being public is that you’re public.
He says he needs to talk to someone before we leave.
To know it’s not just your imagination.
Unexpectedly child-free. Oysters Rockefeller. Seafood in brick pastry. Dolmas. Raspberry financier. Her name is Desire, and she’s from San Francisco. St. Helena is too hot for her—beautiful, but too hot.
There’s more work to do.
