Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ninety-Nine
The gray skies are comforting.
No more peanut butter and chocolate protein shakes. No more avocados. I settle for oatmeal with dried cherries.
She says they’re at the capital today. That Trump is supposed to be there.
If I don’t dance at my desk, I will fall asleep.
“Just bored,” I say. “Just bored.”
Something about all of this feels kind of silly to me. But it’s beeter than what I dealt with before.
Parking lot conversations. It’s cooler than I thought it would be. Sour Cream and Onion chips.
A kick of wind and a broken glass.
Glowing gladiolas.
How seriously should I take this?
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ninety-Eight
I hope he remembered to take the trash out last night.
This summer schedule is looking weird.
I start to leave for work and glance back at the vase of gladiolas. They are glowing, and I want to stop and take a picture, but I decide I will remember it well enough.
“Come home to yourself.” - Co — Star
I’d rather he be social.
She texts me to say that the trip is good. That it is worth it and I should go next year. That the only problem she’s had is with the teachers. I laugh and laugh and laugh. She is not me at all.
Dinner for four is so much different than dinner for five.
Aisle seats.
“You ate that.”
The more I read, the more I realize how much more still needs to be explored.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ninety-Seven
Oh, wait. He still has football.
More, please.
This time, I remember to water the plants before I leave.
Forgot about all-stars.
He caught on. Yes, I am telling you to delete my personal phone number and use this one instead.
Even with the second coffee, I find myself having to scribble notes in my notebook to stay awake.
But there is ego involved.
I will get to it. But, you know. That was a long meeting.
The car's thermostat says 113 degrees, and it feels like 113 degrees. I peel off my sweater before I get into the car. The leather on the seat burns the back of my shoulder blades. I really ought to get a sunshade.
Trying to keep the bottle tightly closed.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ninety-Six
What is that sound? Oh, yes. I need to get up.
I decide to give them until 1:20 a.m. and then immediately regret it.
I will never be able to go back to sleep. I know it.
But I’d like to feel this way all of the time.
I take the cherry pitter out of my purse and laugh.
She sends me a picture of her holding up an “I (heart) D.C.” shirt on the bus.
I make the executive decision to put my jeans back on and work from home.
I put my shoes on and think to myself how grateful I am for what that place gave me: a few lifelong friends.
I’m pretty sure he hit something.
Sometimes, the right words are hard to find.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Ninety-Five
A thin layer of orange sky.
Quiet and slow morning. Coffee first, then cleaning.
Loose incense.
This chapter is about boundaries. Some of these I’ve thought about, and some of these I have not.
Sun on legs.
Something about the look on her face. We grab a few slices of clam pizza and take a walk through the vineyards. Our feet are covered in dust.
She leans over me and places something into my hand. It’s a cherry pitter. She tells me not to give Jeff Bezos any more money.
The problem is that I believe in signs, so when they say that, it feels like some kind of confirmation.
Don’t lose your cool.
An alarm for 1:15 a.m.