Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Eighty-Two
On Wednesdays, he sleeps in.
On the mend.
So. Cold. I break down and turn on the heat.
Am I supposed not to try to look well?
She gives me some much-needed homework. But when will I find the time?
The most delightful couple from Fort Lauderdale. Debbie and Clint. Genuine joy. Those kinds of people make you realize how grateful you should be to be where you are.
Oh. The first day of classes is today.
It feels as though people are offended by my unwillingness to hug or shake their hands when I’m recovering from a cold.
It’s not perfect, but it’s better than before. Progress.
Pizza delivered to the car window.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Eighty-One
Morning headache.
The sound of rain beating against the rooftop.
A deep breath.
One by one.
The hot bowl of soup only provides temporary warmth.
Just one more Nyquil-induced sleep.
Being the odd one in the group, not shaking hands or hugging because of a cold.
We talk about the importance of being around artists.
He sends a picture of her on the bench for the Varsity game.
“I cooked.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Eighty
In the dream, I’m seated at a table in a room, and very important people are asking me questions about my project. Why this dream now, after I’ve already gotten the “yes”?
Cold.
It looks and feels like fall: thin air and whispy fog. The colors are wet and vibrant.
They haven’t refreshed the donuts yet, so I settle on some coffee cake.
Filling up your coffee and getting a little derailed by a ten-minute conversation.
I forgot the basketballs.
The five of us doing a little bit of work this morning. Another new face. Another reason to be excited.
Don’t think about Monday.
Surprised by its spaciousness and all the light.
Could I really wear a dead woman’s clothes?
I better not be catching his cold.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Nine
Cold legs, hot arms.
Hurry up and wait.
Snapping pictures of flowers covered in raindrops. Sipping hot decaf from the mug while watching him remove tape from the bins. Thinking of the days when doing this was actually part of my job.
A little bit of fun.
People tell me so many things. I must have the face of someone who is willing to listen.
Marinated hanger steak risotto and Chianti Classico.
When the tourists are already drunk on tequila and then decide to drink Cabernet at lunch before doing another tasting.
Making accomodations.
99-yard interception. 7-0.
Control what you can control.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Eight
Cold. Droplets on my face.
Almost Friday.
Yes! She’s here.
That is the gift of vulnerability: knowing that you are not alone.
Leftover broccoli and cheddar soup while taking notes.
Difficulty focusing, but I think it’s just the weather.
My least favorite gym.
Collapse.
Can I catch it?
They believe in us.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Seven
I want to stay asleep, but I know I must wake.
Big, full moon.
He’s making a mental list of all the other things he should be doing. I think he might be regretting this.
This is why you don’t bring Mom and Dad to the party.
I should be eating my lunch, but I can’t stop eating this wint-o-green mints.
Let the little things stay little.
I linger because I find it all a bit entertaining. But also worrisome.
Wait. I’m not supposed to care this much.
This.
Cold chilaquiles.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Six
No sleep.
Seeking balance in all it’s forms.
Honest conversation. A truthful conversation?
I find a spot on the front porch in dappled light and write and write and write.
Windows down. Red Hot Chili Peppers up.
Ugh.
I should start plotting the PTO.
I thought the same thing.
“Real optimists don’t believe that everything will be great. That’s complacency. Optimism is a belief that the odds of a good outcome are in your favor over time, even when there will be setbacks along the way.” - Morgan Housel
It will be a good week.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Five
Just one more day of Homecoming week.
Decaf + decaf + decaf.
I called it.
But everything is a big deal at this age.
So many girls. So many cheap and ugly dresses.
I overhear two moms say they are from Willits and Middletown. And they drove all the way here for this?
Soggy Wetzel’s pretzels.
Silent treatment.
Cactus in the knee.
Give them a little freedom, but they don’t know how to act.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Four
Might be time to switch to leggins for these morning walks.
The two of them in their number 11’s. Only one year of this.
Sit on the driver's side of the fire truck!
Six. Seven.
One of my favorite days of the year: red and white bunting in the store shops and sidewalks full of screaming kids and confused tourists.
The colors of the sky against the eastern mountain range as the sun begins to set. An almost-full moon.
But is there any trust?
Anyone can make a play.
The lesson here is that even if it’s not what you want it to be, you can still make it worthwhile.
What a fun season this will be.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Three
Today feels like a rest day.
It’s still dark when I get up, but there’s a spaciousness to morning that I miss.
I see her car and know it will be a much better day.
Team cilantro.
Devil’s advocate.
“This is why we pray to Cardi B.”
An order of fries, a double cheeseburger with no secret sauce, and one glass of Turley Zinfandel.
“I mean, look at how far this person has gotten in life. They don’t even know how to do the dishes.”
She’s got hands, too.
Usually, they need to rig this game but the Seniors have legitimately won.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-Two
The sound of rain. I need a good stretch anyway.
And meditation.
Sweater weather. Fireplace weather?
The big one is sleeping in because he can so I get to take the not-so-little ones to school today.
Oh. She has “hell no” written all over her face. Is it the way I’m saying it? No. I bet it actually just sounds as bad as I feel it is.
Tough questions.
She says she’s excited. Thought about it all night. I tell her that I’m happy she’s excited. And that I’m excited for her. Excited for us. A relief.
The misses are just symptoms of my fatigue. But I still feel so much better.
Should have made those turkey burgers.
Reciting in my head what I will say so I can get out of the door at 2:30 without feeling bad about it.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy-One
The sound of rain on the roof. Do I walk, or do I stay? I walk.
Maybe it’s time to put the Instagram away. Except for basketball. But everything else? Maybe it’s time for a break.
It’s going to happen. I’m going to find the right one.
Can’t stop the yawns. Blaming it on the weather.
One can only eat so many sour patch kids.
“Don’t let them suck your soul.”
Rosé and talk about life. And a melon.
Like a black hole sucking all the life out of the building.
I think I found the right one.
Aura building.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Seventy
Cool air slipping beneath the covers.
I hear a noise in the trees. It’s too dark for me to see exactly what it is, but I think it’s the turkey, or the turkeys. I quicken my pace to avoid having to see what it is.
Tomorrow I’ll walk the other way.
I talk myself out of it because there’s simply not enough time.
Dark and quiet. Just like I like it.
He says “die” and “death” and I can’t help but laugh to myself. This is going to be interesting.
Finally done with these.
Just me and him in the gym. 2010’s playlist. Finding my rhythm.
Maybe, one day, this will be me sitting here in these chair supervising.
Klondike bar. Heath.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Nine
This looks like a fall sky, a rain sky.
All this muscle, but now, no mobility.
Craving: a massage.
I am tempted to throw a log into the fire, but it still feels too soon.
I remember the therapist saying something about how cleaning can be therapeutic because, one, you can control it, and two, you immediately see the results of your work—instant gratification.
Clean car.
She whispers the word to the camera, and it spells it out.
It never takes as long as you think it will.
Wishing for one more day.
Four more weeks.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Eight
9:30 a.m.
I feel like I’ve lost an entire day. But i neeeded the extra sleep.
He’s sitting at the table in a towel eating eggs.
Family lunch at Stateline. Brisket. Tri-tip sandwich. Brisket sandwich. Burnt ends. Macaroni and cheese. Greens and Beans. We talk about how they missed all the Kansas City barbecue we used to eat: Jack Stack, Oklahoma Joe’s, Arthur Bryant’s.
“What’s a narp?” “You know. It’s a non-athletic regular person.”
More film. Halfway there.
I can’t remember the last time I just walked around a Target to waste time. She wants to smell all the smells. I manage enough willpower to avoid putting candy corn in the cart.
We just mention the part about her going over the curb.
I take my shower while they argue about Michael and Lebron.
Cheeto puffs.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Seven
TGIF.
A later start, a slower pace, a little more light.
But, can I do it mysyelf?
I start heading down the hill when he calls to say they have a flat tire.
Catching up over decaf and egg-white scrambles.
It never feels like the right time.
The audacity of her still texting me after all of this.
Putting yourself in difficult situations and getting a different perspective.
Another shaky start with a convincing finish. 5-0.
“I’m just trying to get to my bed.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Six
Someone else is out here with a flashlight.
I’m still mad about it.
Half-day.
I start tearing up while putting the tiny tin of frosting on the cinnamon rolls and think of how she talked about crying while watching the coach walk with the players to the field. And, I think, maybe it’s also just a mom thing—this crying at all the little things.
Start there.
She drops off a small dish of gummy bears.
Made it here, but not with enough time to get to the ocean. You can feel it, though, in the air.
Can’t believe I never made it to the ocean once this summer.
“Machinehead” starts to play, and I think of how sad it is that none of these kids will ever know the iconic MTV moment when Gavin Rossdale sang “Machinehead” in the rain.
A lot of tears over burnt Kagemand.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Five
Up.
Big Strength, Little Strength.
I turn my flashlight off halfway through the second lap and stare at the wakening sky.
The problem with walking alone is that then it’s just you and your thoughts and there’s no way to write them down. I can’t remember them all. Tomorrow, I’ll try voice notes.
“Did you find a coach yet?” I put my hands on my face.
She asks me what my reaction was. Mostly, just shock.
There are no gummy bears here.
During the meeting, he texts me that he likes the orange Sour Patch kids. I try not to giggle.
She and her friends make me giggle.
Begin with the end in mind.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Four
No light in the sky, and I can already feel the heat.
He sent me a text asking how my search is going. Not good, my friend. Not good.
She offers me a bite of her pain au chocolat.
She’s here!
The lights stay off for a few hours, and I’m grateful that they like me enough to sit in the dark.
These gummy bears, though.
A sweaty, but necessary walk.
I’ve never seen this gym in the daytime, filled with afternoon light. It’s much less intimidating than a packed gym at night.
Can we find something a little longer?
She has a bat trapped in her house.
Ten.Two Thousand, Five Hundred & Sixty-Three
Indigo sky studded with stars. When the trees break, there’s enough light to find my way.
How can he see in the dark like that?
Now is not the time.
She says that she’s walking, and she thinks she can smell harvest.
Dark office. Hot decaf in the Yeti. Chopin in the headphones.
These darn gummy bears. I tell her not to buy them when we run out.
Turns out I need to hit the track, too.
“He’s so smart!” Yeah, I know. I don’t think very many people understand just how bright he actually is.
Can I stay up long enough for the ice cream to come?
Spooky season.