Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Seven
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What day is it?
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Is it the day I quit the coffee again? No. Let’s think of something else.
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The source of the soreness.
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Lower and lower and lower.
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It feels busy for a Tuesday.
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I decide to walk from my office to old reception. I make a pitstop at the gatehouse to reassess. But it is a beautiful day and I need the exercise.
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Sweet Chili Doritos.
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A little bit of laughter goes a long way.
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All things considered…
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Everything with a grain of salt.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Six
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Right on time.
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But really I do have a choice in all of this.
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He says it’s been quiet up there.
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I make a list of the small but important things that must be done.
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“The clown is the unsocialized self… It’s the person who’s never been told no. What would you be like in your body if you’ve never been told ‘no’ or ‘be quiet’ or ‘sit still’ or ‘you’re too much of this and not enough of that’? If we can get out of that social body, what is left behind is a kind of beautiful playfulness and audacity.” - Jonathan Majors
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For a few minutes, it feels like the old times.
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Sometimes what you need is just that one person who speaks a little confidence into you.
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How did I think this would only be an hour?
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Two.
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Small steps.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Five
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Blurry eyes.
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Overcast morning. No red sunrise. Coffee percolating. Leftover garlic knots.
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Morning yoga. Should not have had the bread.
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Four baskets of laundry and water and coffee. Overcast skies. Quiet.
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Wishing time would slow down.
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He was so tiny. Could fit him in the crook of my arm.
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I let him tell the story to start because it is that funny. I am laughing so hard that I am crying. But I haven’t heard anything in the attic since that night.
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The cookies must be in the oven. Scents of baking spice and butter wafting up into the bedroom.
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If I am going to be working on something, I’m glad it’s this.
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If I say it out loud enough maybe I’ll believe it, too.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Four
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Morning light.
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Another red sun. Coffee percolating. Waiting for the bacon.
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The quiet beauty of dead and dying flowers: anemones, roses, dahlias, calla lilies, chocolate cosmos.
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Saturday football. There are worse ways to spend the day.
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Always put in a load before you leave.
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We are right on the field and in the sun. Shorts would have been a better idea. I still don’t know how to dress for the weather.
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Cool breezes providing relief.
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I flip over the final page. There is still more work to be done.
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Pizza for dinner.
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A day of real rest.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Three
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Oh, no. Another one down.
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Red sunrise. The effects of smoke drifting in from the fires north and east of here.
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6am football practice.
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I tell her all of the things that have brought us to this moment. I listen to the words fall from my mouth. Yes. This is the truth, as wild as it seems.
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Too much caffeine.
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Yes, he is definitely sick.
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Lessons learned.
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It’s already been two hours.
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Their reaction is the same as mine and so I feel a little more justified about my feelings.
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Nothing is that urgent.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-Two
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Not enough time.
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He drives him. I stay back and throw a load into the wash and contemplate the day.
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The light is too good.
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I’m doing it again and I know I’m doing it again.
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The sound of helicopters hovering overhead. I keep looking toward the sky and see nothing.
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But this light.
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I watch the number on the scale climb. It does not surprise me. I can feel these six pounds.
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She keeps prefacing everything with a disclaimer: “It’s not that you’re old, you are not old…”
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It’s almost time.
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It’s up to me.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty-One
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I broke the streak on accident.
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Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was just what needed to happen on account of everything that was always happening - has been happening - continues to happen.
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I wonder if the specialness of what was accomplished is now moot.
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Do I start over again from one?
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No. I just keep plugging along.
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It is hot. So very hot. This kind of heat makes you ask yourself all kinds of questions.
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This kind of heat is revelatory.
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I rearrange the flowers at the dining room table while he cooks. I tell him about this problem of no poker face. “I just know I looked irritated. And I was.”
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I set the empty vases outside to dry.
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It’s okay to begin again.
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I just really miss creating.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Forty
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4:00am.
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I remember that I need to be there extra early for a call before the call.
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They’re not even here.
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I open the window; he thinks I just have the setting wrong. I let him “fix” it. He returns with his infrared thermometer and points it at the vent. He makes a face.
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I can’t leave.
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I run downstairs and ask her to bring me back a lunch, too. I start eating potato chips during the call because I can’t hold out any longer.
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Farmstead for drinks at 4pm? Yes, please.
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I remind myself that I have Friday off.
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She asks me where I’ve been. I’ve been quieter than usual. The thing is that there is so much
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Where has all the time gone?
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Nine
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I missed a day. How?
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That was the day of the baseball game, his birthday celebration, four extra kids on that drive into the city. There goes the perfect streak.
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The worries will fade once the day gets going.
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Adjustment of expectations.
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The questions just get bigger and bigger and bigger. The answers heavier.
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Just enough coffee.
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Here but not here.
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Compliments everywhere I go.
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Pizza for dinner. Root beer floats for his birthday dessert. He sticks a candle in the ice cream. He reads his letter and smiles. That’s something.
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A shell.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Eight
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It sounds like rain. It is rain.
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The sight of damp wood.
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All the paperwork. Again.
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I don’t have to be.
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I look at her in the eyes. “I know I can’t drive that. I know she is not comfortable driving that. Who can help us?”
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This is the kind of stuff that gets me excited. I try not to look at my phone and the emails. There will always be time for that.
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I can sniff it.
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Too much coffee.
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Way too much coffee.
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“I gotta go because the popcorn is popping.”
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Seven
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I know I need it most on the days I feel least like doing it.
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Psyching myself up for the mall. At least there will be pretzels.
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Trying to address the low vibrations.
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These jeans are legit. But I leave them on the shelf for another time. This isn’t about me.
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The mall is weird.
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Clean, clean, clean.
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How do I make it happen?
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“In life, some pain is inevitable. Most suffering is optional.”
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Popcorn.
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I read until I get tired.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Six
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I live for these foggy mornings.
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I almost wish I could reschedule. Too many emotions this early in the morning.
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No dogs this time. The walk gets easier and easier, faster and faster.
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Coffee in the back patio. The sound of the dogs feet in the gravel and the chickens.
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A small step stool under a peach tree.
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Good results.
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Nothing will ever be perfect but it could always be better.
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A little more anxiety settling in.
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That is not a good thought to be thinking.
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No alarm for tomorrow.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Five
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So glad I took the alarm off.
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It could be risky to put it on now but why wait?
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Warm water with lemon.
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Don’t have to twist my arm for a cup of coffee. And two apricot scones.
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Chocolate chip cookies.
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Worth the time.
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But this…this is not good.
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In the back of mind I keep hearing him say that it looks like a wedding dress.
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I keep seeing an image of that giant snake in my mind.
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When will I take a break?
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Four
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Cold but not that cold. He is colder than me.
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Slices of grapefruit on a white plate. I feel my heart rate increase a bit as I drizzle the evoo over it. I sprinkle the Maldon salt. This is the closest I’ve come to cooking in quite some time.
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I should get that paperwork in.
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I eat while I cook the hash browns and sausage.
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I sit in between them and am quite certain that I smell like sausage.
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Coffee. Should not be having anymore.
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Done for now.
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Ah! Another article for the magazine. A sign from the universe.
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These hours just slip away.
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He asks me what my goals are. I say two of them and even as I say them they sound so boring and practical and not honest. Earlier today I said I wanted to find The Dreamer in me.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Three
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Cold.
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One cup. Just one cup. Can I really have just one?
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Reminders to self.
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Caesar salad for breakfast. Orange juice. Coffee. What an odd combination.
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What is worth fighting for?
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I stand over the table and quickly read a few pages from the book while I wait for him to finish his smoothie. This is how starved I am for reading. I am not even sitting down. I am still looking at the book as the lower half of my body tries to make its way toward the stairs.
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It’s only Tuesday?
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That is not what I wanted to see.
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I watch it drop onto the deck and then flop through the metal gate-fence and onto the ground. I already know it’s too far for my arm to reach. But I laugh and laugh and laugh. She grabs a long hook for the clothing racks and a small gift bag. He takes the pole and drops the bag onto the ground. Then he manages to flip the phone end-over-end to get it closer to the opening. He manages to push the phone all the way into the bag and then pulls the hook through the loop and lifts it over the edge. Success. I am still laughing.
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Still.
Ten. One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Two
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Already Monday again.
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It will be easy, just time-consuming.
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I limit myself to one cup. Just one cup on the white stoneware mug.
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The office is dark. I hope that doesn’t mean she’s caught COVID.
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I’ve never been one who enjoyed surprises.
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“I am the source of time.”
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I could freak out about it, or I could just sit down and do it.
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I am almost too tired, too not in the mood. But that changes when I see them sitting out there.
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But there is something about this time disconnected from responsibility yet present in this real-time with these young women. I am looking forward to the work of the season.
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The thing is, I can almost always figure it out.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-One
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Almost don’t want to do it.
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Cool, cool morning. The kind of morning that reminds you that fall is coming. Except for today, it will still be almost 100 degrees.
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I walk over to him to fix his posture; I find it all amusing. All those limbs and no flexibility.
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The taste of coffee.
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Palo santo and glass cleaner.
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I sit outside and read a book in the quiet, waiting. Just waiting.
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I stare out the open window as we head south down 29. A moment of perfection and gratitude for the sky and the silhouette of mountains, the trees, the clusters on the vine, the cool air blowing into the car.
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A little piece of heaven. I would never leave.
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Pretzel-crusted chicken. Indeed a good choice.
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Can’t sleep.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty-Two
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Still awake.
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3:30am. Eyes finally starting to shut. I wake up twice in a panic from nightmares about work.
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Still so much to do. And I just need days with nothing.
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But I can also see the light at the end of the tunnel.
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The air has a different smell here. It’s as if there is a little bit of salt from the bay being carried by the breeze.
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Pistachios.
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The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
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Extra kids in the house.
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Still so tired.
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I can make it what I need it to be.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Thirty
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TGIF.
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Early morning therapy for the win.
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We take our usual path. The air is still cool, the sun bright. Quiet morning.
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Do I feel better? Slightly. Do I think anything will change? Most likely not. I will just adjust, get better at worryinga bout the things that matter more than the things that don’t.
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What do I want it to be?
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Tacos and canned wine in the shade.
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Wilting flowers.
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I do have what I need.
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They talk about the fire and the fear and what they could and could not do. I play back those 24 hours. Using the flashlight on my cellphone to navigate the hallway of the hotel. That feeling of ash getting in my eyes. Going into the grocery story to buy fruit and muffins. The mental exhaustion. Sitting in the heat while waiting for our rooms. That was two years ago? Feels like forever and also yesterday.
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The view is beautiful. A cool, gentle breeze skims the skin. Good wine, lots of water. I taste everything, notice all of the flavors. I watch everyone else take a picture and remind myself of how amazing it is that I get to live here.
Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Twenty-Nine
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Cool, cool morning.
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We get in the car and both have goosebumps on our skin.
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This one feels different. Less forced, maybe?
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It’s good to have her back.
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I bring the laptop into the car and type away as I sit. In the distance, I hear whistles and clapping and voices. It is still cool enough to have the windows down.
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Comfort.
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I see my face on the screen and I am trying to fix it, but I can’t. Maybe because I am just tired.
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Breathe.
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Fifteen years.
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Always so delicious.