Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Eight
Another rest day. It feels unnatural.
I spot him walking around the campus with his cup of coffee. Like a farmer admiring his work. Or, maybe, it’s like taking a peaceful stroll through the garden.
I tell him that I’d rather be here.
He asks her if people recognized her at the taqueria. I tell her that she’s famous. Like, in this little corner of the world, you’re famous.
Can’t focus.
Hard choices, easy life. Easy choices, hard life.
In 15 minutes, I get about 20 years of a life story, and it is indeed the right kind of arc, going from bad to better and trying to give the next generation an even greater opportunity to thrive.
The kids try to teach her a few new slang words, which is always my favorite part of any dinner.
She keeps telling me that I get to choose, and the kids are like, “This is the happiest I’ve seen her be about her birthday.” They are not wrong.
Hard choice = doing statistics homework at 10 p.m.
