Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred
No need to rush.
I get so caught up in cleaning that I forget to call.
Nothing in here feels right anymore. It’s time to expand.
So continues my mission of asking strangers to coffee.
Fried eggplant. I eat the entire plate.
It’s cool back here in the shade. I haven’t spent much time out here this past week, though it’s really become my little outdoor haven.
Isn’t it ironic that I spend so much time creating a container where others feel safe to fail, meanwhile, I haven’t done the same for myself?
What conditions are required for me to build a container for my own self-expression?
The real question is, “Who’s making dinner?”