Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-One
It’s just that time of year.
I look forward to when this isn’t an everyday kind of feeling.
We talk about journaling and the importance of documentation and the dark side of caffeine.
Of course.
I’m always surprised when they show up.
Even though it has carrots, it’s rather tasty. Or I’m just really hungry. I’m just really hungry.
Maybe surgery could be needed. But he wants to play. But we still aren’t sure because we need an MRI.
Another one bites the dust. But could there possibly be two more?
Spiral up.
The best is yet to come. The best is yet to come.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty
Probably don’t need to open the window that much anymore.
I welcome the arrival of the early light. It’s nice not to have to move through the dark.
I laugh to myself as I see him leaving in a car that is not his own. Those are surely hard perks to leave.
Why am I here?
She says they don’t seem the same. They feel different. I agree.
We hear him say the words and then laugh quietly. If nothing else, we have these little moments of inside jokes. We’re the only ones who get it.
The signs are there.
I look around and count. I worry there will not be enough. I remember that we’ve done harder things.
I shouldn’t have eaten this ice cream.
When all else fails, take a nap.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Nine
Light.
Bed made. Biscuits in the oven. I am forgetting something.
First one in. I tell her I just needed a little bit of quiet, needed to remove myself from the morning rush of getting everyone to school.
I’d rather spend my time on other things.
But what is next?
I know this about myself: once you’re on “the list,” you’re on “the list,” and there’s no way of removing yourself from it. Once I’ve mentally disengaged, I’m done. Done, done. I hate not caring, but when I don’t care, I really don’t care, and that causes a lot of problems.
What are we even doing here?
Everything on the inside is screaming.
She tells me that the rumor is I kicked her off the team. “Well, that’s true.”
It’s only nine, but it’s the right nine. It’s only eight, but it’s the right eight.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Eight
Didn’t we fall back?
Today feels like the right day.
I watch the landscape flash by as we drive. I don’t say much; I just look at my phone and think of what to say back to her, check the address of the destination, confirm that it is indeed not raining there.
I wonder if she will recognize me. She does.
Babydoll sheep. A noisy rooster. A cow. We find the yarrow, and the hummingbirds, and the hollyhocks.
First, she shows us the chapel made of straw, earth, and sand before showing us the barn with its large sliding doors and clear windows. A bird is flitting about, trying to find her way out. It feels symbolic.
I was 37 and wondering if this was what my life was going to be: laundry and kids and drinking wine with the neighbors.
In the dream, I watch him drive the car off the little cliff. Maybe I’m actually not ready for him to drive.
They ask me how my blood pressure is doing. Sigh.
Chicken pot pie. I tell him about my dream and he tells me I’m a D1 hater.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Seven
Oh, yes.
The first Saturday morning practice. A quiet gym with its glistening floors. What are these feelings? Maybe it’s because I only got 4 hours of sleep.
HIIT. More of this.
This is one of my favorite parts of this: looking at the pieces and figuring out how to make the puzzle whole.
I roll the basketballs back to the storage room. I think about what is already working. I think about whether or not I should read between the lines. I think about the glittering morning light. I think about the very large bottle of water I need to drink. I think about the trash scattered about.
I can barely keep my eyes open.
Really feeling my introvertedness.
I haven’t seen this many Black people in a room in a very, very long time.
The sound of my boot heels clicking on the sidewalk, trying not to drop the bottle of wine cradled in my elbow. Wanting very badly to be back in my bed.
A good, slow Saturday.