Ten.Four Hundred & Twelve
1. It did rain after all. Thank goodness. The earth is so dry.
2. The way the lights blur through the tears on the window. The darkness of this morning. The quiet. I make the coffee earlier than usual and start a load of laundry.
3. He's taking the kids to school. It feels like a 20-minute vacation. It's all about the little things. It really is.
4. 11 am showing so we leave to have lunch in Schaumburg.
5. I don't feel like myself. My body feels sour which is reflecting in my mood. I feel like I've been saying this over and over to myself for months. My body is telling me that it's not happy and I've been ignoring her and going right back to the cheese plate. She's craving good sleep, whole foods, meaningful movement.
6. It's dark and it's cold and those are two things I dislike about most indoor spaces. I think of what we will call home in California. It doesn't need to be big (in fact, I welcome a break from cleaning so much square footage) but it does need a lot of natural light. A sense of space even if I am close to my neighbors. But light is a must.
7. Because the writer dreams never go away.
8. I decide to cook up the Chicken Francese recipe that I keep seeing but have never made. I need a white wine so I pick up Italian Pinot Grigio and Vernaccia.
9. So many tomatoes. I feel abundant in a way that I haven't felt in a long time. Attention leads to gratitude. I'm consciously trying to refocus.
10. Between the house showing, 10 pounds of tomatoes, two rainbows and a heavy rain, I feel like things are about to turn around.
Ten.Four Hundred & Eleven
1. She said she wanted scones. I am going to try to make these scones today.
2. Do I have enough coffee? Scones and then also he wanted a smoothie. I should have bought that $17 Oster blender at Target. But really I want the real-deal Vitamix or Ninja or whatever. But I really ought to stop using the food processor for these kinds of things.
3. Rain?
4. I hesitate but remember that regardless, Thursdays are cleaning days and so it's best that I just do this. There is time for this anyway.
5. I try to push away thoughts of us being here until winter. I think it would be easier if we knew exactly what the Plan B was for if we don't sell the house in a reasonable amount of time. What is "reasonable" anyway? Two months? Three months? Will they give us money? Will they pay the mortgage? Will they buy the house? This is the one problem with being the first: There is no protocol established yet for any of this. We are the guinea pigs. We are the ones crazy enough to do it.
6. I bring myself to the front porch and feel the heat of the sun on the tops of my thighs.
7. The best burger I've had in a really long time topped with aged white cheddar, bacon marmalade, bbq sauce, and an onion ring.
8. Drop the shoulders.
9. 11 am.
10. I want my response to stop being "I'm just tired."
Ten.Four Hundred & Ten
1. It's the first day.
2. There's no movement in the trees and the clouds are standing still. Some bird chatter.
3. Bacon and hash browns and eggs for the ones who might want them. Hot coffee.
4. Everyone is ready and there is still more than an hour left until school begins. I twiddle my thumbs. Decide to clean the kitchen and sweep the floor and watch the sprinkler.
5. The three of them together. I forget how beautiful they are. And how big they are. And how soon, there will be no more first day of school pictures. Bitter and the sweet.
6. I flip on a podcast and hop on the bike and go for a ride. The neighbor and I talk about the sweetness of freedom like this: a long walk to clear the head and make some space for ourselves again. I see the privilege and am grateful for it.
7. Attention leads to gratitude. We don't pay enough attention.
8. Salad with a miso, soy, and ginger dressing. Miso soup. Wagyu beef and kimchi dumplings. Nigiri and Maki. A slice of scallop topped with pork belly. Chocolate molten cake with vanilla bean ice cream. Lioco rose of Carignan.
9. I think about the way I've developed food memory over the last few years. A long time ago eating was for pleasure in the way that I loved how things tasted and I loved the feeling of fullness. Now, I eat to savor. I notice every texture. I think about the ingredients. I imagine the chef or cook up early in the morning prepping the ingredients for the day. I wonder about the origin of the ingredients. Eating becomes not only a sensory-filled pleasure, it also becomes an inquiry into the what and why and how.
10. They are back. We get home at 4:10. I do not like this later end time. I remind everyone that we'll be moving soon and so this won't even matter in a few months. Yes. We're moving soon. I am just so ready to go.
Ten.Four Hundred & Nine
1. The sky looks like rain and I hope it delivers on its promise.
2. Last-day-before-school kind of errands. She wants a thermos. He still needs some shorts. They all still need socks.
3. I know what she means by being nervous. I wonder if it feels just as strange to them as it does to me to begin the school year, knowing that you will soon be uprooted and transported to a place you've never been. I wonder if the anxiety is not so much about the return, but the departure.
4. I think of the ocean.
5. We head to Naperville to try and get her glasses fixed. They bend it back just enough to get us through until new ones will arrive.
6. I can't find what I'm looking for and so we leave for her house. I love this sofa and this house and this corner of the street. I will miss it. I wonder whose couch I will find comfort on in California. I never did find a very good friend here. I wasn't here long enough.
7. There, or here? Or here? I don't think we'll know until we get our feet on the ground. It's hard to explain to someone who wants to look at only data that you make so many of your decisions based on the way they make you feel.
8. But I should be working on that.
9. Peach cobbler because there's time and it's the last night of summer vacation and I want them—and myself—to have something delicious and warm and comforting before bed. The last day. I am ready, though.
10. I facetime with my parents before I get them all into bed. They ask me about the house. I tell them that there's still been no action. We argue over the best way to cook the okra; I should fry it but in a cornmeal batter. I tell her about all the tomatoes we harvested today; my mom tells me I ought to start saving seeds because soon I won't be able to buy any. She's sounding like she did when the market last crashed. I don't think she's entirely wrong and that's why I've already got all the books. She suggests we learn Krav Maga.
Ten.Four Hundred & Eight
1. It's eerily quiet.
2. Plenty of tomatoes for me to harvest today. The watermelons are getting bigger. The sound of the water hitting the gravel.
3. Last night's dream. It's funny how a dream can shift your way of being. I am grateful for the message that came through. I needed that apology.
4. Butter, water, cinnamon, brown sugar, vanilla, a pinch of salt, oats. I've been making this for 10 years now.
5. This is the last Monday before school starts. I am equal parts excited and sad. I will miss the slowness of the days and cuddles in the afternoon. But I'm ready for routine and structure. Plus I need to start packing.
6. Too many ideas.
7. Sometimes inspiration comes to me in cycles. I decided to be more committed to the muse when she shows up in full force. It means working on ideas without questioning their validity. it means following the breadcrumbs that I see scattered before me.
8. "Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it." - Moonwalking with Einstein
9. I carry his question with me throughout the day.
10. Ask.
Ten.Four Hundred & Seven
1. Dark. Dark. Maybe rain will come today.
2. I run down a list of what needs to be done before my feet hit the floor: haircuts for the boys, clothes shopping, clean the house (again), grocery shopping (heavy gluten-free and veggie meal plan for the week), résumé.
3. What else is there to say?
4. Individual packages of red pepper hummus and kombucha on sale. I fill the cart with the things I know we need in order to get through this first half week of school. I can't believe summer is over and yet I'm so ready for the school year to begin.
5. Two yellow butterflies chasing one another in front of the headlight.
6. I decide that I'm going to be less annoyed while shopping with her. It's just the two of us. We find shorts and t-shirts and a versatile gray sweater, one pair of black leggings, even though it's still hot as blazes and it will be hot when we get to California too. But I feel good.
7. The little boy is easy. I can pick out whatever and he is okay with it. The older one. Not only is he in men's shoes, but now men's shirts. But all he wants is logo wear and we have a quick conversation about budget before I point out a few more t-shirts. This week I'll run to the consignment shop and see what I can find for him.
8. I see the heatwaves rising from the rooftops of the cars next door.
9. Steak, roasted onions and peppers and small potatoes. Sometimes the simplest food is the best. I am full and tired and worried.
10. He's good at trying to talk more about the future. Much better than I am at least. We weight out the potential pros and cons of places we've never been to. Should be closer to Napa and settle north of Oakland? Go further east and get more house for the money? Head south and east into another valley and get more yard and a little bit more of that wine country feel? We're both just ready to go.
Ten.Four Hundred & Six
1. Slow to wake. His eyes are still closed but he's asking me what's for breakfast.
2. We convince him that driving all the way to Buttermilk is going to be worth it. It always is. This is the last chance for just the three of us to go and do something.
3. The drive there is one of my favorites. So much green and open spaces before driving by stately, old homes with big porches or lots of stone--and this one house a fantastic red door.
4. Hibiscus mimosa and coffee. A full plate of eggs and bacon and potatoes. Feeling nourished.
5. Late morning dinner session. Chicken Marsala, chocolate cake, focaccia, and salad for the family with the new baby. Last year when everyone was giving birth, I didn't have the capacity to do what I wanted to. This time I have it. And it's been too long since I cooked for someone else in this way. I remember those newborn days and the gratitude I had for each and every meal I didn't have to make but could so easily consume. In my next life I'll go around feeding new moms.
6. So many things I want to do.
7. The pool water is cloudy and a strange shade of green but it's so hot it doesn't stop us from getting in. I'm assuming there's enough chemicals in it to kill anything I could be potentially afraid of.
8. But it's also a piece of propaganda. I'm just trying to be a critical reader and thinker.
9. Loveblock Sauvignon Blanc and then a Pouilly-Fuisse. We wait for rain. It starts slowly. Then the big drops fall but not enough to thoroughly wet anything. But it's still enough to push the smell of summer rain up from the ground. Yes, it smells like hot, wet asphalt and grass.
10. We joke about being 6 instead of 5. I am surprised at how not opposed I am to that idea.
Ten.Four Hundred & Five
1. That screaching bird again.
2. There are more tomatoes to be picked. I will need to make a meal plan to accommodate all of them. Salads and sauces and simply sliced and sprinkled with salt for a snack.
3. I can feel the soreness in my rib cage and underneath my arm pits and across my shoulder blades. It’s a welcomed feeling.
4. I go to the store at 6:30 am to buy the school supplies I never ordered because I didn’t expect us to still be here. I find every last thing and a huge weight is lifted from my shoulders.
5. I do a deeper clean today-dust the baseboards and wipe down the doors. School begins on Wednesday and I expect another weekend of no showings, but I’m trying to stay faithful to routine so as to be prepared. Trying to always be prepared.
6. We take the older two to a sleepover at a friends and then head out to run work errands. I had forgotten how much I like fancy grocery stores. I buy a magazine, “Women and Weed,” because I am curious about this. Because I got the message that I needed to know how to be in charge of my own healing. The cashier tells me she hopes it becomes a thing. That she wishes her dad who died of cancer could have had the option to use cannibus instead all the other awful drugs his HMO allowed.
7. The three of us eating together reminds me of when he was in pre-school and would join us for lunch. Always so eager to hang out. Always pleasant. Always grateful. The babies of the family are just different.
8. Sancerre and seafood.
9. Movie night with just him. Popcorn and gummi fish in the bed. Jumanji on the screen.
10. The original was better. I am becoming my parents. I prefer the older versions of everything.
Ten.Four Hundred & Four
1. There's the palest shade of blue in the sky this morning and a bit of dusty rose rising to meet it as the sun comes up.
2. I don't even know if you can tell that I pruned away so much vegetation. Everything still seems to be leaping out of containment.
3. Water, water, water. Everything is so dry. Drier than I ever remember.
4. I take us to the trampoline park for a belated birthday celebration. After the first few jumps I don't regret this morning out. All the anxiety exits the body. I am grateful for my body's ability to be able to move in this way. I will be sore tomorrow.
5. Smells Like Teen Spirit.
6. I am sweaty and stinky. I can't remember if I put on deodorant today. It feels like once I committed to wearing only natural deodorant, I forget to wear deodorant period. Which is not like me. Or maybe it's just that we're all using the same bathroom so that I don't have to clean so much while the house is on the market and because I am not where I normally am, routines have fallen apart.
7. The one thing is that this car does have a working radio and I forget how much I miss driving with music blaring.
8. The kid wants a family movie night before school starts. This means, a movie on Sunday night. I want to not forget this request because it's from the almost-11-year-old and I love that he still wants to do things with us.
9. Riesling from the Fingerlakes. Thai-inspired recipe by Rachel Ray. I will need to put this one in the newsletter.
10. A little bit of ice cream. Everything is changing. "God is Change."
Ten.Four Hundred & Three
1. The sky looks heavy though I don't think it's supposed to rain today.
2. I can't wait to talk to her. It's been too long. I don't think we'll be able to fit enough into an hour and twenty-five minutes.
3. The clouds stay low and even though the humidity is high, it's cool enough for me to linger out here this morning with coffee and a journal.
4. My children have watched a lot of television this summer and I feel a little guilty about it. Why am I out here reading and not making them read too? I had better intentions at the start of the summer and after June, none of them really panned out, my thoughts and energy distracted by the upcoming move.
5. Butterfly shadows.
6. I keep touching my face as I talk. That's how I know I'm nervous and ungrounded—my hands won't stop moving.
7. I need to cut back the watermelon again. I find my pruning shears and get to work. There is a cool breeze, but when you're standing directly under the sun it doesn't do much for you. Between the watermelon plants and the tomatoes, I manage to remove a wheelbarrow full of vegetation. I am salty and wet and feel softer.
8. I go through and collect the ripened tomatoes in a bowl. Tonight's dinner requires cherry tomatoes and these chocolate sprinkles will be just right.
9. She's concerned because it's 5:05 and I haven't started making dinner yet. I reassure her that I have plenty of time.
10. Rigatoni cream sauce made from onions and tomatoes, chicken stock, cream, and thin slices of chicken. I welcome the fullness.
Ten.Four Hundred & Two
1. I gotta get back to a routine. My body is asking for order.
2. I think I'll take them to get shoes today. I get so overwhelmed by the anxiety that it's easy for me to just shut down. I think getting out of the house today and checking things off the list will give me a sense of structure.
3. I smell like Fever Dreams.
4. Invoices and laundry. Coffee. The humidity is too thick for outdoor reading to be pleasurable.
5. I feel better after the release.
6. I can wear his shoes. Maybe next year I’ll spring for the Jordan’s and we can share.
7. Risotto and sautéed spinach and salmon with buerre rouge. Another gift to myself. Red wine splashed onto my white shirt.
8. The afternoon rains brought a cool breeze and lower humidity. “This house. 3-car garage. It looks beautiful.” “We didn’t want to look at the Home Depot though.” “But you actually can’t really see it because of all the trees.” They live on the other side and back up to a busy road. Neighbors. It stings but it’s honest feedback. They can’t see me tucked here in the corner with my glass of wine.
9. But today I barely thought about the house and that feels like a win.
10. Shower at 7:30. A glass of wine in bed and a few episodes of Queer Eye before falling asleep.
Ten.Four Hundred & One
1. Dark. It's the combination of Autumn's impending return and cloud cover from impending storms. But today is supposed to be a pool day. We will see.
2. It is not yet 6 am and I am already working to detach myself from the outcome.
3. The printer won't stop jamming and it feels like a metaphor for life right now. What's the hold up? What keeps getting stuck? Why isn't it all rolling out the way I thought it would?
4. The sound and scent of summer rain.
5. There is a new bird sound. It sounds more like a long squeal.
6. Our house is over their budget. They don’t like that they can see the Home Depot. These are things I cannot control.
7. I think back to last night when we pulled up to the house, aglow with lights. Inside smelled like Windex and apple pie. I sighed. “It’s a beautiful home.” And I realized that there’s nothing more I can do.
8. “Any nibbles yet?” Three words I did not want to hear today but he says them with genuine concern.
9. Pride & Prejudice on the porch while the pot pie cools down.
10. Early shower and early to bed. Grateful for everyone's support. Feeling how hard it is to ask for support. I remember how when we moved last year I went dark for a month while we transitioned because speaking/writing my fears and anxieties out loud seemed like I was being too much. Who wants to listen to me whine? I can barely stand myself. I need to soften.
Ten.Four Hundred
1. I get no rest when I sleep.
2. Creamsicle sunrise. The clouds thin out to let a little bit of orange peek through.
3. I thought it was cooler than it actually is but there’s no dew on the grass and thhe breeze feels warm. It will be hotter than yesterday.
4. I finish the last few pages of Heart Berries and decide that I didn’t like it and that’s okay. I go back to a wine book and decide that I should probably clean just in case we get a house showing.
5. But first I start a collection of poetry. I read half of the poems and decide I also don’t like this and I don’t have to finish it and that’s ok. Besides, I should be cleaning anyway.
6. She wants me to make pot stickers but I change my mind and say no. I say that I need to keep the kitchen as clean as possible in case we get a showing. “You think we’ll get a call today?” he asks. “No,” I say, and feel my throat close up a little as I wash the baking sheet.
7. I am unable to cry. These tears feel like hey would be tears of self-pity and self-pity feels indulgent and silly and impermissible.
8. Concrete with peanut butter cups.
9. But I’d still rather distract myself with books and sweat in the alcove.
10. 7:15-8:15.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Nine
1. 399.
2. 5:15 run for coffee. I grab 4 pints of blueberries too. Why? Maybe these will become a dessert.
3. I make a mental list of what needs to be done: meal plan, grocery list, shopping, dusting all the baseboards, cleaning hand prints and fingerprints off the windows, water the lawn.
4. Still some time to read before the store opens. Dragonflies and butterflies and the finchs are singing.
5. DOCG Chianti for under $10. I’m intrigued.
6. It is hot. Very hot. But I’d rather sit here right now and fill my head with stories to distract me.
7. I hear them but I can’t see them.
8. I finish Children of Blood and Bone and am not ready for it to end. Now my hands feel restless. I decide that I'll straighten up the kitchen again and then find the next book to read.
9. Heart Berries. I retreat back into my hot corner of the alcove. Though I am not sweating, I can feel the salt accumulating in the creases of my skin. My eyes are drying out from the hot wind. But I still want to sit here.
10. Lately, I can barely keep my eyes open past 8:30. Sleep comes fast and hard.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Eight
1. I miss the tall grasses and the faint scent of Queen Anne's Lace.
2. Coffee. Leftover potatoes. Bright sunlight. Water from the sprinkler hitting the windows. Where did the cicada go?
3. I watch Monarchs chase one another. Then there's a cricket jumping around my feet. Then a giant bee. This week has been the week of insects.
4. Ruined plans.
5. I am not the only one trying to navigate a relationship with an elder that just won't go right. I feel saddened that so many of us are experiencing that disconnect, but also comforted in knowing that I'm not the only one.
6. Their house is under contract and while I'm happy for them it makes me sick to my stomach. At this point, everything is subjective. We know the home shows well. We know the home is priced right. We know that it has the best lot in the neighborhood. Someone will see it and they will love it like we do. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
7. I pile leftovers onto a baking sheet and warm them in the oven Mostly pieces of roast chicken, Brussels sprouts and turkey burgers.
8. Everyone says to be patient.
9. It's quiet on the street tonight. Except for the house with the newly engaged couple. There is laughter and car doors slamming shut. Sprinklers and the rattle of bike chains. I press my feet against the stone in the alcove.
10. Hot shower. So hot I can barely stand in it. Even with the fan on the steam almost chokes me. And yet it still feels good.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Seven
1. His birthday. Lucky number 7. I like odd numbers best.
2. I can't sleep so I get up before the alarm. 4:45. I've been tossing and turning. I haven't had a good night of sleep in several weeks.
3. I water the garden and the petunias and the hydrangea. The front lawn needs love too. We didn't get anywhere near the same kind of storms my friends got in the east. Everything is so dry.
4. I have to wake up the older two so we can get out to breakfast. It's his favorite place and one of ours too. Hibiscus mimosas, coffee, harvest potatoes, bacon, eggs, English muffin. I am full but in the best way.
5. She and I ride through the neighborhood and take the trail all the way to 5th Street. We are moving slowly though. My thighs are burning. Maybe it's the weight of breakfast. Need water.
6. Price drop is official and we pray it brings bodies through the door. It's hard not to be in a little bit of a panic when you're not sure if there's additional support if we're unable to sell the house. What do you do? Do you rent it? Do we live apart and somehow scrounge the dollars for him to be in an apartment until the house sells? There is a way to make it work no matter what but I'll take option one please. Let's just sell this house.
7. But if only it didn't have to end this way on his birthday. Everything is always my fault. I know that this is what she believes. That I am the reason she doesn't see her grand kids. That I am the reason they don't want to spend the night. That I am the reason we are moving to California. Of course, it's always easier to blame a stranger than the ones closest to you--or yourself. One of the things I've learned through the years is to be extra conscious of how I treat my children now so that they want to spend time with me later.
8. It's still eating away at me.
9. He asks me to make a vanilla cake with salted caramel frosting. Done and done. Everyone is full from a hearty breakfast and lunch and we skip dinner and go straight to presents and cake.
10. I think of a tornado...how in the center it is calm and quiet. That is what we have to do now. We have to keep finding the center where there is stillness. Yes, everything is being broken up and swirling around us, but there is still peace to be found in the chaos.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Six
1. I just don't feel like watering today. I'm wearing the jumpsuit and the hems will get wet if I go in the grass.
2. Deer. Not the mom but the baby that really isn't a baby any more. It looks at least another foot taller and leaps over some of the tall grass before disappearing into the thicket.
3. I still grind the coffee beans in the laundry room so that I don't wake any one up. I just want everyone to sleep for as long as they can.
4. Peace this morning is watching the fog rise up over the water behind the neighbor's house. It's spotting the dear. It's sitting on the concrete step feeling its coolness beneath my feet. It's a few deep breaths before assuming the duties of the day.
5. His birthday is tomorrow and because of what life has become these last few weeks, I am just not buying presents. They are resetting the Target but what I need is still intact. A Cubs hat, a NASA t-shirt, a headset and some Nerf bullets should be sufficient. That's one of the things I love about him is that he's so enthusiastic about everything. He is almost always happy.
6. Butterflies.
7. I give myself time to read a few chapters of Children of Blood and Bone before I get back to laundry.
8. I tell her that my plan is to channel all of this energy into creation. To focus on generative thoughts and not on anxiety.
9. I feel good about this game plan. I am hopeful. I am just ready to be done, ready to move forward.
10. Clouds that look like mountains. I can't not hum 3 by 5 when I look at the sky. A bit of a rainbow. Seems like a good omen.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Five
1. Gray skies. Window blinds blowing in from the breeze.
2. He asks me when I'll make a homemade breakfast again. I laugh. I am grateful that he appreciates my efforts in the kitchen. I am annoyed because he sounds spoiled. And because he doesn't understand that right now, with everything going on, this is just what I need to do for a while.
3. The DMV. It's faster than it used to be but I still wish I hadn't lost that piece of paper that would have let me renew my license online. All kinds of people and faces. Quiet time alone in the car. It's good to get out of the house.
4. I sit down in the alcove with coffee and my journal and begin to write. I text him and then come back inside. I decide that the best way to use my energy is to act as if they will come to our house next. I make the bed, start putting away, the laundry, put away the dishes.
5. Those same people now want to come see our house. I make the kids go downstairs and sit at the kitchen counter while I clean the bathrooms and he vacuums the bedrooms. We drip sweat up and down the stairs and finally, in the car.
6. Caramel and chocolate donuts. Sitting in the parking lot. Kids arguing in the backseat. I think of all the times my parents had to do this. I don't ever want to have to do this again.
7. This week's menu says it should be chicken tacos but I don't feel like tacos. I feel like something more hearty, something that feels more nourishing. Breadcrumbs? Check. Pasta? Check. Can of tomato sauce? Check. I take the basket back to the garden and fill it with heirloom and chocolate sprinkles, sage, rosemary, and thyme. I spot another baby watermelon on the vine. The other one is a deep, dark green. I can't wait to see its red flesh. How will I know it's time to harvest?
8. I walk back across the browning grass and think of that home he showed me on the southeastern edge of Livermore. It's a smaller, older, ranch that sits on 5 acres with views of rolling hills and mountains. I think, maybe I could do that.
9. Chicken Parmesan was a way better choice.
10. Tomorrow.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Four
1. 1:18 am. I still do not feel better.
2. I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep. I can't shut off my mind. I try to stick songs into my head and nothing stays very long. 1:47 am. 2:16 am. I debate just getting up and starting my day. 3:06 am. The alarm goes off at 4:30. I hit snooze and close my eyes. 5: 15.
3. The smell of skunk and the mist hanging close to the ground.
4. The way the fog has risen and is hanging over everything.
5. Extra pages. More prayers. Still angry. Understanding that the anger doesn’t nothing for me.
6. Meditation for stress.
7. But there’s a resolution and that feels good.
8. I begin Children of Blood and Bone and what excites me are characters that look like me and words that I don’t know but that somehow still feel familiar.
9. Leftovers.
10. Night comes fast.
Ten.Three Hundred & Ninety-Three
1. The smell of something burning. One piece of deep dish sausage at 450 degrees.
2. 4:30 alarm.
3. 5:30 alarm. I listen for birds. The windows are open and the air is cool. I close my eyes again.
4. We talk price and market and strategy before we’ve even had coffee.
5. I sweat in the corner but I refuse to move. Something about the heat and the light feels cleansing on a day like today. I set the sprinkler out and the drops that land on my forehead feel good.
6. We watch them leave and wonder if they were the ones that canceled.
7. It's just that there isn't enough energy for words. I feel tired but too restless to sleep.
8. One large monarch butterfly floating from to flower to flower. So much grace.
9. Then we realize what has happened and it's hard to turn off the emotion. Anger plus frustration added to the anxiety.
10. I will feel better in the morning.