Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Six
4:08 a.m.
That was not a good sleep.
Maybe if I write about it, I will feel better.
I write about it. I feel better. The light filtering through the morning fog gives the room a soft glow.
Avoiding the real work by making homemade tomato soup and croutons. Getting that done will help me write better, right?
Sales calls.
I tell her the contents of the last 16 hours of my days, and she is aligned. So grateful that we get each other. What would I do without her?
Always the same.
He asks me if it’s homemade. I tell him it is. “Why,” I ask. “It tastes really good.” And that one comment is why the procrastination was worth it.
Two days.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Five
Tea, crisp morning air, the quiet.
A long walk with one of my favorite humans and their four-legged friend. The bright yellow leaves and the firm ground. A bright blue sky and streaky clouds.
He almost seems nervous that we’re here. He doesn’t know what to say.
What I really want to do is go to sleep, but I don’t think that’s the right thing to do.
I think he’s getting taller.
Just want to keep it positive.
That is not how I thought it was going to go. But I believe that we will make it work. I believe it’s going to be okay. Do I have any choice?
Did I take that blood pressure medication?
Reset.
Tomorrow. There is always tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Four
Practice day.
I don’t recognize who is he at first and then remember that he and I had a long chat one morning, last Saturday morning, waiting for the grocery store to open.
“Everyone is on time!”
I feel the focus. They are being the people they said they wanted to be.
She tells me it’s 9:30 and she has to go to work. I wrote a plan for two hours, not ninety minutes. Two hours is never enough.
Four days.
So. Freaking. Tired.
I bring all the things upstairs with me to bed even though I know I’m just going to fall asleep.
When he’s looking me in the eye, that’s when I know he’s listening, when what I’m saying is resonating. “You are the leaders now. This year wasn’t the only year. Next year could be the year, too, if that’s what you decide you want.”
Callings.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Three
I really need to sleep more.
Morning light. She reminds me that the Halloween candy is on sale; I should buy that instead.
I begin my setup: a table for the bagels and fruit and stickers. Large sheets of paper posted to the wall for the post-its. Pens and index cards. Team retreat day.
We read each others’ reasons for being here, our expectations of one another, our goals. The good news is that we are all here for the same reasons. We all want the same things. And if that is true, then we are halfway there.
They want more.
I pull the sheets of paper from the wall. I realize I am spending too much of my life not doing the right thing. This feels like the most right thing. I think this is my most right thing.
We stop in the olive grove and he asks me what I think. I don’t know what I think, but I know what I feel. I feel like I’m in some holy space, a magical place. I feel like I want to bottle up this feeling and have it forever.
I don’t want to make this call.
Clean bathrooms. Clean floors. Trader Joe’s frozen samosas. Not enough water.
Not how we imagined it would end.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Fifty-Two
Only three hours. I will pay for this later.
Hot tea. Yelling goodbyes through closed doors.
The light is breathtaking. Everything is bright and alive.
I remember why I don’t drink coffee anymore.
One 90-minute meeting, and it feels like it’s 6:00 p.m., not 11:30 a.m. I really need more sleep.
And then, sometimes, small things happen to remind you that the bigger things are on their way.
I think he’s offering to be a mentor. I feel a little lucky.
Maybe it’s just going to be one of those seasons. But still, no negative parent emails yet, I tell her.
Yes, more of this, please.
These cookies are gross and disappointing. I can’t believe I stayed up an extra 22 minutes to make these.
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.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Six
Friday.
I know I’m not sticking to my routine. I tell her I’ve just had a bad week. I don’t want to be a scrooge today. I’ll just keep it to myself.
Toilets cleaned. Floor mopped. Tables wiped down. Morning sun through the windows. All my thoughts a running a tape.
The audacity.
No more excuses. I did it. I know it can be done. I know they can do it too.
Something about the look on her face this week.
He looks so tall and lean in the all black. I can see in his eyes how much he wishes he could play. There’s always next week.
17-14. What. a. game.
They won it for their coach. You can just tell. That was all about playing for someone they love.
I’m doing the right thing.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Five
What day is it?
Why are we trying to dry clothes at 7:20 when we have to leave at 7:50?
He asks me if I’m running late. I tell him that some days, getting the kids out of the shower and out of the house takes longer than you’d like.
Despite the amount of positive self-talk, sometimes there is no getting around your true feelings.
At least I have this to focus on.
Dark office all day. I wonder where he is.
I make a weekly attendance chart and a copy of the practice plan for her. This is kind of like having an assistant.
I think she’s trying to call my bluff.
His practice isn’t over yet. I decide to take a jog to pass the time. The construction equipment obstructs my view of the fluorescent sunset. I pass a house on my left; its windows are uncovered, and the lights are on. I try not to stare. I am going to feel this in the morning.
Or, maybe she didn’t quit.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Four
The 1st of November.
Maybe today is the day he will return.
Losing track of time. And now there’s a backpack to pick up. And treats to buy.
Alone again but not quiet. Chainsaws and hammers and muffled murmurs from below.
There are so many other more important things. So many other things on which I would rather spend my energy.
Early release.
He’s still there. That’s a good sign.
Already so much whistle-blowing.
It’s not a punishment. It’s just life.
A difficult conversation is easy when you’re speaking from your truth.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Three
Only Tuesday.
Oh yes, it’s Halloween.
Another solo day in the office. Playing catch-up. At least it’s warm in here.
Messages like that said en masse do not inspire anything but fear. Maybe, one day, they will be better about this.
It feels as though something strange is about to happen but maybe I’m reading too much into it.
We decide on Mexican. There is a spot right in front that I can pull into. No parallel parking. Camarones. Rice and beans. I eat the entire plate.
The leaves of a dawn redwood.
It is a good group, even if a little small. In fact, maybe a better group than in past years. Lucky number three.
One is home sick. One doesn’t have a costume. I drive into town sit and drink wine and stay warm while tracking them on their phones. Maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all.
“You better hide your candy. And hide it well. No. Don’t give any to your brother. He’s sick and the sugar will just keep him sick.”
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-Two
Monday, Monday, Monday.
Decaf in the French press, plus frothy vanilla oat milk.
Six hundred words.
I put on my mask and start to strip the bed, spray the pillows and mattress with Lysol, put on fresh everything, and throw the old stuff in the wash. I make him take another test just to be sure. Still positive.
She is having trouble finding the vein.
Insurance. But I think we both understand one another now. Please just send this referral to the other cardiologist.
Nervous, so nervous.
Seventeen total. It feels like a good amount, the right amount.
Maybe my math is off.
You can make the hard decision today, or make a hard decision tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty-One
I know I need to get up soon.
Wind blowing through the trees. The sound of pine cones and branches hitting the roof and pine needles blowing across the decks.
Fifty-seven degrees inside the bedroom. Tall socks and leggings and sweater.
Staring up at the ceiling, I search the corners for spiderwebs illuminated by the morning light.
I can’t remember the last time I was here, but it still feels familiar enough: the flat roads, the brown hills, the dusty air, the sprawl.
Key lime pie.
He wants me to retest him. He wants to move back into his room.
He calls it “community grilling.” I dig.
Take me back to the ocean.
I know what I’m doing to myself. I know I’m going to regret it. But I also know I’ll get it all done.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Forty
If only I could really sleep in.
I open the curtains to find the sea. I watch the waves rolling in and admire the colors of the sky.
Decaf in a paper cup. The smell of the ocean air. Firm sand. The sound of waves crashing on the shore. You still get the same layers of watercolor-sky. I could stay here forever.
Plank Coffee. Cloverdale. How come everyone else’s downtown is so much better?
I think this woman has sold me game tickets before.
Warmer and warmer and warmer. Tame Impala.
More tired than yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before that. What keeps me awake?
Never taking for granted how much I enjoy coming home.
Fifty-nine degrees inside.
Still sleeping.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirty-Nine
Not today.
The pattern is not worth repeating.
“Don’t confuse movement with progress.”
Thirty-eight degrees. I need some gloves.
There’s a point where you’re driving up the 101, and the landscape shifts quietly. The rolling hills turn into steeper terrain and the oaks give way to large redwoods. The sky is clearer, too. Thin. Piercable.
I think of how she told me that I love it here. That I can’t leave.
Protein style. Add ketchup and mustard and grilled onions.
But at least there is this.
I tell him that lately, as we travel to these away games, all I can think of is my upcoming season and long treks. What will be different this year?
A thin coat of moisture on everything. Cold feet and cold hands. Layers and layers. An almost full moon.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirty-Eight
Turtleneck weather.
I tell her that maybe I should stop making my appointments with her right before I go to work.
But the extra things I do are the things that feel purposeful and excite me. But I know what she means. She means I need to do less.
I ask her for a few masks before we get back in the car. He slides into the back seat and apologizes. Thank goodness we got those shots.
This might have actually been productive.
The rooms are non-refundable. And who’s going to take the stats? Might as well make the best of it. Daydreaming about coffee overlooking a stormy sea.
Hot tea all day. Cold, cold, cold.
Four days.
Someone has removed the rumble strips.
Orange and brown and yellow leaves scattered about. Rock walls and sandy dirt and pits in the pavement. Evening light dappling the vines below. One burst of red tucked between rows and rows of leaves.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Thirty-Seven
Cold. Two layers of sweaters.
He’s the only one with a weak stomach.
Marigolds drying out on my desk. October is quickly slipping away.
Staying away from the coffee, but this kind of weather begs for a cup + frothy oat milk.
She makes me laugh, and for that, I am grateful.
Two times in one week! They both say. Three times in a meeting with him, and it’s only Wednesday. Maybe we are all doing too much.
I trust her.
I knew this day was coming. So many giggles. Crushes on the big brother. He has no clue.
Tight games. A good loss. It’s almost our turn.
How do you do that all day?