Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Two
Tuesday.
The fog is low and thick, and the air is cold. I crack the window to cool the room down just enough to tempt the goosebumps.
Turkey.
I look at the clock and estimate how much time I have left before everyone else begins to arrive. I have at least 38-43 minutes. That’s enough to drink a cup of coffee and make my list, and maybe send an email or two in the dark quiet.
Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Do I want to be in this meeting? No. Please, no. Meeting.
I bring my notebook with me because I want to write my down my thoughts—to go from gap to gain.
Glass of Schramsberg Brut Rosé. Fritto misto.
Fourth Quarter Mind.
The weather is so perfect. So perfect that you can’t help but feel grateful. So perfect that you just want to close your eyes, tilt your head up toward the sun, and spread your arms wide as the breeze silks its way across your skin.
Tomorrow, they leave. And then the day after, I leave.
Egregious.
