Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventeen
Better late than never.
Daydreaming about morning fires.
He gets it. Maybe more than the others, even if it doesn’t always seem like it.
I decide on “Last August” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. She says she’s curious about this one. “It feels achievable,” I say.
She said she was hoping I would get more cookbooks. Did I make anything out of the ones I just had?
Sun.
A little bit of peace.
Tired. So tired.
What is nature, and what is nurture? Is it too late to nurture out some of the nature?
Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Sixteen
“Last round, best round.” I hear her voice in my sleep.
Maybe it’s cool enough for me not to sweat.
The sun through the fog is blindly bright but it casts a holy glow over everything.
I knew I should have just stayed home.
Leftover Italian wedding soup for lunch. Quiet except for the sound of my fingernails on the keyboard.
Driveway littered with browning oak leaves.
Friday night football on a Thursday. Everything feels just a little weird.
Supermoon hanging in the sky.
The wind is picking up. The power is already off in the towns just up the hill. We shouldn’t be affected, but we’re so close, you never know.
Still up.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Fifteen
In the dream, she has a giant parmesan wheel, and she cuts me a wedge.
Still very dark.
An explosion of orange out of nowhere. And I feel drops of rain. These two things don’t seem like they should go together.
This chair. This cup with hot decaf. This gray and moody sky. This quiet.
Where did all the time go?
So much moving around of words. How else can we say the same thing over and over and over again?
“The audacity of self-belief.”
I tell them they need to go to bed now. “It’s only 8:30!” they say. Oh, so it is.
These knees.
Big, big moon.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Fourteen
I hear him moving around, but it’s so dark. And I know it’s not quite time for me to get up yet. It feels too early.
3:44 a.m. If I don’t think about how I won’t fall asleep, I will fall asleep.
Making time for two meditations.
The perfect foggy October morning. Spooky season. I start to make a list of all the scary movies I want to watch.
The irony of the follow.
Pineapple does make my tongue hurt.
And with that, I think it’s time to pack up and head home.
A more comfortable evening in the gym.
It’s best to deal with the decision-makers first.
Two pot pies are not enough.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Thirteen
It feels extra dark this morning, but he’s already awake so I don’t have to be as quiet.
The fog is so thick you can scoop it with your hands. I look for the trees with the changing leaves-oaks, mostly.
Something for nothing.
It sounds like something is erupting. Not the washing machine. Not the dishwasher. I see the water coming from underneath the kitchen sink. I run to the back door and yell for him to come back.
The last bit of tomato soup.
Always water with us.
Twenty-one days.
So much happier when I’m home.
Chicken pot-pie.
Foundations.