Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Seven
Waiting for sunrise.
Patiently, not-so-patiently waiting to get a Christmas tree.
Still without my morning fire.
Noble Fir, only. 8-9 feet. None of those are here, of course.
Hard not to when you’re right there.
A large tree tied precariously to the roof of the car. You can hear the strain on the green twine. Visions of it spearing the car behind us on the trail.
Only color lights.
Finally, my fire.
The days feel like they are going by too quickly.
When the resistance is this strong, something must change.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Six
A lighter workout to get the blood moving.
Dinner rolls, sweet potatoes, and Brussels sprouts are on my list for today.
So hard to move away from the fire.
Pub cheese.
The upside of a quiet, solitary holiday is moving at your own pace, taking a nap in front of the hearth, no one to worry about entertaining.
Bright, clear sky and golden sun. A nice break from last week’s rain.
“What does it need to hear from you? What message(s) does it want to amplify for you?”
Deviled eggs.
Should have made mac ‘n’ cheese.
A slice of pecan pie before bed.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Five
Slow it down.
Sunrise meditation. Trying to ignore the sound of the coffee grinder.
Gratitudes for a day that feels like Friday when it’s only Wednesday.
Look at the extra time as if it is a gift.
We both agree that we miss the people the most.
Eat every bite.
Feet and fire and sparkling water. Thinking about the free time I’ll soon enjoy.
Relief.
He asks me what I want the kids to do tomorrow because soon, no one will be here anymore. That I’ll finally get to have my tiny tree.
Dream with your eyes open.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Four
Dreams about dropped cakes.
No more ice cream for me.
“Last round, best round.” Stretches and then a meditation of affirmations.
I tell him that I lost my cool just a bit. “I said, ‘I don’t come here to lose.’ I don’t want them to lose.”
Yes, of course, I’m here on time.
Still not entirely comfortable.
Leaves falling from trees like snow falling from the sky. Red and yellow and orange papering the asphalt. Green. Blue sky. And yet I spy clouds resting on the tips of the trees.
Time for a fire.
Trust your gut.
I’d really like to eat a slice of this pecan pie right now. But. Restraint.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Three
Monday. No sounds of rain. I kind of miss it.
Big cup of decaf to drink while I wait.
Gray light and wet red leaves and pink crocks and black pants. Finding beauty in the things that do not make sense.
Be grateful for what is and not what isn’t.
She says we should decorate for Christmas the day before Thanksgiving. I do not disagree.
Oh, no. I think this meeting might be in person.
Tomorrow.
She sends a skull and bones emoji. Her humor amuses me.
Where to send the anger and the frustration? How do I not hold it in my face? Sleep. Adjust expectations. Have fun anyway.
“Learn how to use your words in real time.” - queercosmos
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-Two
Sunday. Yoga day.
Some things feel easier today because of the harder things I’ve been doing each morning. Ease feels good.
Fire. Thick socks. Toast and peanut butter. Coffee.
More scouting.
Surprised by my lack of need for a nap today.
It’s not perfect, but it’s the fact that he tried. He made an effort. He is often trying the hardest.
Gonna finally break this losing streak in fantasy.
Chili and cornbread season.
“One of the most common causes of failure is the habit of quitting when one is taken over by temporary defeat.”
8.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty-One
Still curled up.
A break in the rain. Blue sky? Everything is wet, looks electrified.
Sometimes thirteen is the same as three.
Sweet potato and a cup of decaf in front of the fire.
…and 90% how I react to it.
I know they’ll eat them if they’re made into a crisp.
What will they be doing? Looks like loitering to me.
Finally found film. I remember how they got us last time, I don’t want it to happen again.
Apple crisp with vanilla bean ice cream, caramel sauce, and some crushed pecans.
He says that he can’t believe it’s almost December. Neither can I.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Forty
More pitter-patter in the dark.
Tears and crumbling chocolate structures.
I lean back in the seat and close my eyes. What’s done is done. Now, we wait.
Water on the roads. Mud and rock sliding onto the thin shoulders that curve along the trail. Branches
Parmesan Truffle fries.
And another one. And another one. And another one.
The group of them with the same look on their face, asking the same question. “They look like they want to riot.” They retreat. We laugh.
Hard now, so it can feel easy later.
Feet warmed by fire. Leftovers for dinner. Craving bed.
There’s still plenty of time.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Nine
2:41 a.m.
Closed eyes but a racing mind.
So many cars in the parking lot for this early in the morning and with all this rain.
Peaceful alone time carting boxes and bags out the car and into the building, trying not to get my wet boot prints all over the clean floors.
Just a very large decaf.
225.
Successful? I think so. I like this team. It’s a good team.
Rushing into practice in the rain. Reminder to move anything and everything back to end times at 2 p.m.
Focus.
The cancellation is as much of a gift as it is inconvenient. We all need more preparation.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Eight
3 a.m. Noooooo.
I sleep/think and listen to rain as I wait for the alarm to go off.
100.
Stack the days.
I load the rentals into the back of the car in the rain.
I know what was missing. Joy. I remind myself that my intention was to embrace joy.
The rain sounds so loud, and I want to build a fire, but today is not the day for that.
Looking forward to the days when I get to make a different choice
Of course, this part isn’t going the way I want it to go. But I’ll make it work.
Don’t wanna.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Seven
Still the hardest, most right thing to do.
99.
We clock over two hours on the phone today, just like in the old days. I miss the old routine of an hour each morning.
Print and organize
Possibilities and potential and
I tell her that the kombucha is in place of the yerba mate because I’ve been caffeine-free for so many months now.
So close and yet so far.
Probably need to up my blood pressure medication for the first
I never have an appetite on game day.
Rest. Refocus. Refine.
Eight is a lucky number.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Six
One day.
Game day bacon breakfast for the little one.
I tell her that honesty is hard, but it’s always the best.
But you also need to go there as if you have nothing to lose.
The way they are mansplaining to us about this sink smell is offensive.
One day.
All I did was prolong the inevitable.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” he always says.
The right and hard thing.
“On this team, we act selflessly.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Five
An extra hour.
A little stronger. A little more flexible. I can feel it in the movements.
A crackling fire place. Feet right in front of the hearth. A good Sunday morning.
I ask about leveling up our wardrobe. “Nicer hoodies,” he says.
I should have made time for a nap today.
So many things that I miss.
There are other things that I’d rather be doing, but alas, this is what is required of me right now. I have the next steps, but I ought to lay them out to be in step with time.
The glory of not having to cook dinner or dirty up your kitchen.
That wasn’t even our best.
“Take back your power.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Four
A little bit more time in bed.
Replaying various moments from the week before.
The first thing I see is a picture of their view of Rome.
Hair day.
Bake Off but the one with the professionals. Interrupted by questions I don’t want to answer.
Sometimes, you want to give up, but you know you can’t. You don’t really want to.
I keep sticking the pizza rolls back into the oven, but maybe there is no amount of extra cooking that will make them taste better to me.
Exhausting.
In bed by 8:30? Yes, please.
A mental list of the to-dos for tomorrow before closing my eyes. An extra blanket. The tremors are back.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Three
Don’t wanna.
I peel the oranges ahead of time so that I don’t have to bother with the mess while working.
We take the truck through the vineyards. Cornflower sky and bright yellow sun. Shivering leaves in a breeze. Young vines and old vines and piles of broken vines atop dark earth.
Flu shot. My hands are too cold and so not blood is coming from the little hole they put into my finger. They do a second finger after rubbing it to get it warm. 149/90 doesn’t make sense, but I doubt the machine is lying.
There is a benefit to this.
Zero expectations.
And there we have it.
I thought it was going to be a little closer than that.
A driveway full of wood to be stacked and put away, but that means it’s almost time for the fireplace.
Excited.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-Two
I open up the browser, see the news, and shut it back off.
Found a new area of weakness.
More pods.
I wish I could find the inspiration.
So much wind.
I can’t believe they want $50 for this thin black shirt. Also, why am I always doing this at the last minute?
Found the energy.
I apologize for the Katy Perry. He says that he likes white girl music.
Too many new things at the same time; can’t tell what the source is.
Almost. Almost.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-One
Slow going.
Big appreciation for the early morning light. It feels warm.
I forgot to buy pods.
I tell her that the secret to a good cup of decaf is using the Nespresso machine. Tea is not a substitute, and drip decaf is also lacking.
I drop my ballot into the box.
I tell her she looks so very Parisian. She was going for patriotic. Oh yeah, forgot about that.
I can’t care how it looks.
I need his version of calm.
Well. I feel like crying, too.
Deep breaths.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty-One
D-Day.
It feels like 5 a.m., but it’s only 4.
Grateful for a little more light this early in the morning.
Underestimating the amount of time lost by all of this driving.
Trying to figure out how to receive treatments based on your potential football playoff schedule and the non-league basketball games that can be missed. Maybe this one week in late December? The sports med receptionist doesn’t seem surprised by this.
There are certain things about the suburbs that I miss.
Do I really want to go? I need to go.
They’ll come around.
Talkative today.
Dunks.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirty
Fall back.
Not only did I remember how to change the clock on the stove, but I also figured out how to switch it back from French to English.
Grateful for technology that lets me do my grocery shopping while sitting down.
Warm in the sun, so cool in the shade.
Only one cookie today. Just one.
Underwhelmed.
Wrong day, but it means I get to make the call.
“Are you living? Or are you existing?”
I hear Christmas music coming from the room. I think about how few of these are left. They call me up to the room. “I only have two more of these left; I’ve got to make the most of it,” he says. “Well, I’ll probably come home for the holidays.” “Probably?” she says. “I mean, I most likely will.”
Tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Twenty-Nine
Not enough sleep.
I keep adding to the list.
Looks like someone didn’t get the memo.
I notice that the sign is taped over a plaque, and it’s a little thing that says a lot.
The dunks are fun to see, but watching teams get blown out by 50 and 60 points is not.
More tri-tip sandwiches.
Standing in front of a box of cookies for 10 hours and only eating two is an accomplishment.
She says that the shrimp and grits are on their way out. “Have I been looking at my watch that much,” I say.
“Make decisions from the perspective of who you want to become.”
Crawling into bed.