Ten. Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Seventy
Last 6 a.m. practice of the season, I say as encouragement for him to get moving.
Not budging.
So many headlights heading our direction, so early in the morning.
I tell her that I keep thinking that I’m one conversation away from changing my life.
Rolling my eyes on the inside.
Done in time to join them for lunch, thank goodness.
I ask him if he ever thought that when he grew up, he’d spend his time deciding whether the paper should be white or cream.
Bring all the good vibes.
Numbers.
I never feel it while I’m doing it—it’s always after.