Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Two
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Cold and yet hot. 
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Blood-orange cake from a box. 
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Pouring the last glass of orange juice is always a bittersweet moment. 
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I remind myself that this is only the first week of this and that is why it feels so hard. We will find a new way. 
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The audacity. The hubris. The delusion. 
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I sit in the boardroom alone, listening to the gentle sound of the rain. Rain. Rain. It’s raining. Wet concrete. Damp air. 
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Zoom calls from the school pick-up line. 
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There has to be a better way. 
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“When was the last time I had to use my mouthguard?” I ask him. “When was the last time I couldn’t open my mouth to eat breakfast? That just tells me how bad it was.” 
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Something has got to go.