Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Fifty-One
Slow to rise.
Morning pages outside. The little slivers of sunrays slipping through the leaves.
The woodpeckers have found another spot.
Another day in bed.
Sunlight falling through the window.
I think the headache might be the TMJ?
Under normal circumstances, one would be shocked or surprised. But not today.
Tomato soup and grilled cheese.
I don’t want to go back?
“Eat the meat, throw away the bones.”