Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Seven
2-something in the morning. I really need to go to sleep.
I really need to go to sleep.
Thick, dark clouds. Raindrops clinging to the windows.
I listen to the words coming out of his mouth and can do nothing else but lower my gaze. I am almost certain that I am smirking, but there’s nothing I can do to hide it.
Turns out there are a lot of things happening soon. Really soon.
Screens keep flickering. Power. So much water. And now the wind. Is that one going to fall over? It looks like it could snap any minute.
He says that the power is out. What is the backup plan for dinner?
I reread the letter. What is it about the letter that is getting to me?
Turley Zinfandel while waiting for the burgers. Trying to find the warmest heater under which to stand but we’re getting colder and colder and colder.
I tell him not to worry: the three of us are already planning a trip.
Still no power. Cords running through the house. Showers in the dark. Wishing I had been hungry enough to eat my burger while it was still warm. It feels like Friday.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Six
That came faster than I thought.
I tell him that I want my half-hot-water-half-coffee but that I need to eat breakfast before I do. But I’m not hungry. But I want the half-hot-water-half-coffee. But I’m not hungry.
One corner of coffee cake.
It’s coming together.
Path of least resistance.
Trying not to roll my eyes.
He tells us about the time he worked at Don Giovanni and how he had an hour-long lunch break and went to the bar and got drunk, but that he went back to work to finish his shift. The managers told him he was drunk, but he told them he was fine. I’m just trying to hide my horror while I fumble with the menu.
He tells me that the rain is supposed to come hard and heavy tonight and that he’s going to open the fire road in case the base of the hill floods.
Not my problem.
I miss them.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Five
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Forgot about the time change.
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Still no yoga for me.
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I lay in bed a little bit longer, stare out the window into the soft morning light.
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Long to-dos for a Sunday.
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Slowly making my way through the piles of things sitting in front of the fireplace.
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What next?
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I keep telling myself that I just need to find another way to get everyone else organized, everyone else more self-sufficient, and then things will be easier for me.
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I set the legos outside on the deck. All but the Mandolorian. I can’t bring myself to give that one away.
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Exactly how I thought it would be.
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A second helping of Ceasar Salad before the next speech. The smell of old wood and bad wine and brownies. The anxiety of running across Highway 29 not once, but twice.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Four
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The rain is back.
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I try to look for a break in the weather for us to be together. It doesn’t look promising but I hold a time anyway.
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So, there is a game after all.
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Ham and cheese quiche from Station. Coffee from home.
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We both agree that this is the good thing about baseball we love most - time to be with one another.
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The rain keeps falling and falling and falling.
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Tomato soup and homemade croutons.
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I think about her words and realize she is right. She is right. And that means making a different decision.
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Libraries as a refuge.
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Clarity is key.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Three
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Forgot to turn off the alarm.
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It’s not raining. And I think maybe even the sun will come out.
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I really need to get these computer pieces out of my car.
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Another day of school drop-off and pick-up, half-water-half-coffee spilling out of the spout of my mug, staring through raindrops on the window.
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I think I’m closer.
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We eat in what is in effect a greenhouse. It is surprisingly warm and sunny. Steak frites and lemon meringue pie. I almost lose track of time.
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I ask her if I can show her my big babies. I show her big babies dancing. “Big babies dancing?”
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As soon as we start walking through the campus I feel a little bit of nostalgia, maybe even a bit of jealousy. Those unfinished years still haunt me.
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UC Davis Archives and Special Collections. A French wine text dated 1515. A Spanish wine text dated 1297. Dottie and John.
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These little moments.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-Two
Thank goodness.
She comments on the weight of my book bag. But how am I supposed to carry everything?
He feels around the crown of my head, presses on the bones on the back of my ear, stretches my neck up. Every touch is an attempt to ease the pain and discomfort in some other part of my body. She says that a break in the bone is often a much faster recovery than ligament damage.
I don’t know why I don’t like this place.
I step back into the rain.
It’s been so long since I’ve done school pick-up.
Talking myself into and out of ideas.
I am not mad at the cancellations. I need a break from the busyness. The rain just keeps coming and coming and coming.
Station Pizza. Worth it?
Remembering that the path toward clarity is often created by discovering what you don’t want.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty-One
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The last day.
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No grits today.
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Forgot to turn the lights off on the golf cart.
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If she compliments you, it’s for real.
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I tell her that I feel like my children are leaving the nest to go out into the world. Is it weird to say you’re going to miss a room full of strangers? But they’re not strangers anymore, and I guess that is why it feels like this.
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What am I going to do now?
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All I can think about is just how good the energy was in that room.
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I quickly move outside. Too many people in the cafeteria. I am peopled out.
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Chopin and email catch-up and daydreaming.
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“The future of wine is you.” - John Brecher
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Forty
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12:32 a.m. Oh. No.
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I lay awake and think about the sequence of events. If I were to lay it all out for someone else, what would they think? I think they would agree with me.
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More melatonin to try to squeeze in a few more hours before the 5:30 alarm.
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“I just need to know for me,” I say.
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Not enough time.
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Need less.
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“You must have a low tolerance for bullshit.” “I do, and that’s part of the problem.”
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Why is wine important?
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I tell her that even though I am looking forward to a bit of rest, I am going to miss having them here. I am going to miss the energy of this group; I am going to miss the conversations, the laughter, the insights, the inspiration.
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Life is so beautiful and strange.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Nine
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The sound of heavy rain on the roof.
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A quick scan of the weather. We should catch a break. I pray we catch a break.
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Grits.
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I cut our usual morning call short; people are early. This group is particularly punctual.
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What am I giving?
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“The most important ingredient of creativity is constraint.” - Elaine Chukan Brown
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The best day. The very best day.
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I tell her it’s also refreshing to experience this through their eyes; to be reminded of how fortunate I am to be where I am, doing what I’m doing.
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Too many thoughts to put into words.
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A fox runs across the back deck. Another sign.
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The best day. The very best day.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Eight
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In the dream, she issues me a warning.
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In the dream, I also lost my folder and my books. I search and search and search, and I can’t find anything that belongs to me.
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Also, in this dream, they are trying to teach me a piece of music and are frustrated with me because I cannot read the sheet music.
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Go time.
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It’s good we are doing this, even though it is hard. And at least it is not raining. And at least it is with people I like and admire.
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He drives me in a cart up the road to the base of my house. I begin to make my way up the stairs, and, oh boy. The watch says 63 flights.
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Kimono.
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Favorites: 2006 Burgess Cabernet Sauvignon; 2013 Gallica Cabernet Sauvignon; 2008 Lang & Reed Cabernet Franc; 2003 Mayacamas Cabernet Sauvignon.
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Dessert, please.
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She says she’s feeling awestruck. I am feeling the same.
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So, so, so much gratitude.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Seven
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Forgot about the basketball game.
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Secretly but not-so-secretly praying the rain starts soon so I don’t feel bad about not wanting to go to the field.
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These young refs for these little kid games. I tell him that I already miss basketball.
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It is a Saturday, but it is also peaceful being alone here in the office, sitting on the floor eating soup while using the stapler, imagining myself being able to, at some point, play this particular Chopin prelude.
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Triple checked, and still a mistake. Inevitable.
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The two of us together trying to pull it all together, but the printer keeps printing ghost letters.
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He buys lamb chops while I buy the cleaning supplies.
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All the thoughts, all the time.
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Just four of us for dinner tonight. I eat two helpings and relate it to stress.
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Tillamook Campfire Peanut Butter Cup ice cream.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Six
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It feels like today will be the day.
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Half hot water, half coffee. That’s basically decaf, right?
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We talk about how that is why it’s an addiction: I am feeling stressed and that is what I want to help soothe the discomfort.
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The sun is shining, shining, shining.
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Quiet office but a lot of noise.
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The more changes you make at the last minute, the more likely there is to be a mistake. And that is what I am most nervous about.
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I sit in the chair and eat carne asada while comparing documents. I should have taken this outside.
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Mistakes.
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“I told her nevermind lol”
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He asks me if I feel better. I do, of course.
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“Speaking truth to power,” she said.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Five
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Just not ready.
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She has me on the table and rubbing that medal thing across my bicep and forearm. Still so tender at the elbow. They say something about my scalenes and my subclavicals and Jones Technique.
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What I hear is that it’s been three months, and my fingers still go numb. It’s been three months, and I still don’t have full extension.
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It’s been too long since we’ve connected. It was so very needed.
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I tell her that I’m so tired I just want to lay on the floor.
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I need cacao?
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I take my lunch outside, sit in the sun by the fountain then make my way to the olive trees.
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Not worth it.
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I am the last one here.
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I can’t see the end.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Four
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More light.
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I brown the onions and chop the bacon. I feel my forehead begin to perspire as I stand over the stove, carmelizing the onions.
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I should try it just because.
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Just as I turn on the classical…
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Funny how she thinks spewing compliments will somehow make me forget all the things she’s not doing that she said she would do.
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The sun, the sun. So glad to see the sun.
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She is looking at me like she’s confused. Why are we now both confused?
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But whatever the outcome, this conversation is by far better than anything we could have had with her last year. And he feels honest and relatable. And I believe him.
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It’s a sore subject.
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They tell me about how she shoveled snow from in front of the basketball hoop so they could shoot hoops.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Three
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More darkness. More rain.
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How is it already the last day of February?
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I bring the vision board downstairs to my desk and place it front and center.
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Sitting there, I can feel my own energy; it is low and distant.
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Carnitas. I sit in the chair by my desk and eat quietly. They are trying to figure out why the system is not communicating with the thermostat. We thought it would be an easy fix, but it is not. “At least we know we’ll be cool come June,” I say. “We won’t still be here, will we?” she says in response.
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This is the new deadline.
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The rain starts and stops and starts again. It is both a nuisance and a relief. But I’d rather be at home listening to it pound against the rooftop while I lay in bed.
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In so many ways, we are both the same.
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I do a temperature check on the situation. Not much has changed.
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So, so, so tired.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Three
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More rain.
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A strong desire to stay home.
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What will get me through today?
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I explain that I’ve already been operating at 110, and so, right now, this is the max you can get from me. It is too exhausting to do much more.
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84 degrees in my office.
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Surprised but not excited.
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I am reminded that this is going to be more challenging than I thought. More challenging than I wish it would be.
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Long day with nothing going quite as I planned, but here we are.
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Cacao. Divination. Soup. Visioning. Laughter. Quiet. Intention. Gratitude.
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Yes, more of this, please.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-Two
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Up before the alarm again.
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Last night’s conversation led to grits for breakfast this morning.
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I tell him I feel like taking tomorrow off, but I know I can’t. There is too much that needs to be done.
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I see now that part of the eyebrow is also missing.
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I unlock the storage and drag out the container of old retreat supplies. I am looking for scissors, glue, other ephemera for tomorrow night. I put all the magazines in a pile.
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Together, we go through every drawer, wipe down every surface, remove every bit of trash. It looks like a room again.
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I lay in bed.
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He is lying on the floor.
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More rain.
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More clouds rolling in.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty-One
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3:32 a.m.
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Fog hugging the mountaintops.
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I think this is good.
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My timing was off.
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We don’t understand the text. We try to fill in the gaps ourselves and go from confusion to anger.
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The bus again?
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The sun breaks through for a bit. Three carnitas tacos and a lime Jarritos while sitting in the stand, waiting for the next game to begin.
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He and his friends walk into town so that the problem can be corrected.
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“Well. Let’s head out and salvage what we can out of this night. This has been a shitty week,” I say as I throw my coat back on.
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They’ve disappeared somewhere, and I think I know why.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty
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I think I still hear the rain.
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I go outside to start the car. The phone is ringing in my hand as I walk back into the house. My physical therapy is canceled.
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Then the Nixle alerts start to come in.
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Snow. Real snow. Imagine that. But not for us here on the floor.
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As we drive into town, we see the bright snow filling the gaps between the trees on top of the mountains. Mayacamas and Vacas covered in white.
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I tell her that it’s time to
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I didn’t realize I was in charge of that.
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I didn’t realize I was going to be doing that, either.
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Burgers and duck fat fries, and lemon cake for dessert.
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So much, and yet it’s still not enough.
Ten.One Thousand, Nine Hundred & Thirty
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Waiting for the snow.
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Waiting for the right words.
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Waiting for a sign.
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I feel so out of practice. I’m just trying to hear myself, hear what my own senses are trying to tell me. I’ve been so out of touch.
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I can feel it in my body. Jaw popping again. Shoulders inching toward my temples. Constricted breath.
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There is much to be done.
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Nothing is staying in today.
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We debrief afterward. I listen. I reassure. I try to find solutions.
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He has placed two milk cartons full of firewood by the front door. The thoughtfulness is what gets me.
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I think I hear the rain.