Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Seventy-Seven
The real work is allowing myself to rest.
He told me he would eat hard-boiled eggs. I make eight. He takes none.
Progress.
She suggests that I go scream in my car.
A lunch reservation for a place that isn’t open for lunch.
“You can text me anytime you want.” No, thank you.
“What kind of Mickey Mouse operation is this?” I say this to myself in her voice way too many times a day.
Now I know the real reason.
Three coaches in the gym make so much difference.
It’s so loud in here, it feels like a playoff game. I’ll need to remember that when we come to play basketball here this year.
Why does it have to be hard?
