Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Four
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4:24am. Through the open window floats in the sound of the frogs and the rain. The rain. The rain.
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Now, I am late on two deadlines.
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What is the lesson in all of this?
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It always feels like there is something else I need to be doing that is not the thing I am currently doing.
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Dua Lipa over the rustling of the tissue paper.
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I shouldn’t have indulged in this conversation but here we are.
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Four hours of sleep is no good. No good at all.
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He tells me that I forgot his jersey. That when I’m in a rush, I make a mistake. That his jersey wasn’t even in the drier yet.
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What is it about this moment? I am realizing that it’s fleeting. That there are only so many more of these.
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“I’m mossy. My brain is mossy.”
Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Two
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4:45. Not today.
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Wait. Where did the time go?
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The crackling of the fire as she guides us through movement.
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Refereeing a game is so much more different from coaching which is different from playing.
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Everyone just wanted to beat #3.
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What is the best use of this hour?
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I had forgotten how hot it gets in the sun when you’re sitting on the bleachers.
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I missed these games.
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He says that I should vent so that my eyes don’t bulge out of my head when I sneeze.
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Wanting something.
Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & One
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I guess I shouldn’t have let myself sleep in after all.
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Where are everyone’s clothes?
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She walks through the hallway with her two long braids and her visor and her pants and she looks so much older than this same time last year.
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For a brief moment, I wonder if this is going to be worth all of the trouble. And then I remind myself that there is nothing worse than knowing what the right thing to do is and yet choosing not to do it.
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It is the fear of losing belonging.
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The thing about this time of year is that yes, so much of our time is now taken up with trips to and from baseball fields, shelling out dollar bills for snack shacks, and sitting in bleachers. But look at this sky and all this sunshine. There are worse ways to spend these hours in a life.
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These articles are never going to get written.
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I look at my watch. It is almost 4pm.
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We load up YouTube on the big tv and watch the last few minutes of the meeting while we finish our glass of wine. Things may be more in our favor than we realized.
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I know this feeling.
Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred
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Still.
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Not wanting to get up.
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Thank goodness for box mixes.
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Missing aloe juice and green juice.
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I see faces that I wasn’t expecting and that is both a good thing and bad thing.
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She never can just answer straight.
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Drained.
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Gotta hit the gym more often.
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He tells me that I don’t have the bandwidth for this but that I’m good at it and sometimes this is just what I have to do for now.
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Doing the right thing.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Nine
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I hear a creak and then footsteps. I follow the footsteps down the stairs, in the dark, and find him aglow from the pantry light.
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Owl.
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Not better. Maybe slightly worse.
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I laugh to myself as I watch him squint in the sun. I had forgotten how bright and direct the sun is during this time of year.
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I think he has figured out how to make himself throw up.
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I am here but not really hearing anything that is being said.
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Lunch break is realizing that I need to pick him up from school because I didn’t provide a negative COVID test.
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Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.
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I keep my eye on the clock.
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The last person speaks and then there is a mass exodus. I wish I could have seen their faces.
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We are still standing in the parking lot and talking. I start to see the twinkle of the stars.
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A marathon, not a sprint. I hope we have the endurance.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Eight
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Up.
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Sore throat. I tell myself it's just stress. The juice cleanse and stress.
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Of course, today the garbage man has taken his time and rolls through after 7am.
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The oldest says he threw up. Now there are two home from school today.
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There will always be something to do.
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Can I just get through the next 6 days?
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Throbbing throat.
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I make it to the gym for their last scrimmage. These ladies look good. Two more years until they get to high school.
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Shower at 7:30. In bed by 8:30. I've got to get some sleep.
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I think he's talking to me.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Seven
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In one dream, we are being followed in the Target. In another, she throws a stack of file folders. In another, Ari Hest’s “Ann Marie” plays loudly in the background.
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I forgot about the date milk last night so I drink it for breakfast this morning.
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I stick my face in the sun.
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A little relieved.
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“Must feeling brave today,” I say to her as I open the car door. “White pants and a full cup of coffee while driving.” I think I hear a giggle.
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No wi-fi.
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Chipped nail polish.
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A small cluster of orange poppies in a sea of dried grasses.
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I shake the bottle of green juice but the top isn’t on it, and so green liquid splashes all over my white pants and the keyboards of both computers - and the window, and the desk.
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Of course, the air conditioning in the car would go out.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Six
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Who’s alarm is this?
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Too late.
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Already so much light. Spring is coming.
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I’m still not doing what I should be doing.
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I forgot that sometimes I get so much done when I’m in the office.
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Happiness Tonic.
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Perhaps I did overextend myself by thinking I could make dinner and a charcuterie board and wash the wine glasses all at the same time.
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We’re all on the same page.
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Maybe, one day, everywhere I live will actually look like I live there.
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Up too late. Way too late.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Five
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Thoughts are coming rather quickly first thing in the morning.
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Very busy.
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I sit down and feel a little drowsy and then remember that I’d only had a very small cup of coffee.
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I think he is surprised to see me.
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Above his desk are pictures of Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., Sigourney Truth, and Marcus Garvey. He starts to tell me a story and says, “maybe if James Baldwin was here, he’d be able to explain it to me.”
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I look down at his feet and see the word “BACON” on his ankle. Above that, a picture of a pig.
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I flip through the book and come across a piece of paper with his handwriting on it. It reminds me of my grandfather’s writing.
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We walk outside and make note of the beautiful morning. We both agree that we really are blessed to live in such a beautiful place.
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Maybe we just have to figure it out.
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I can only put it off for one more day.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Four
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I thought I turned off the alarm.
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Olives for breakfast.
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One jar of water and one mug of coffee beside the yoga mat. I watch the light fill the room. How will we do this in the next place?
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What is the next place? Where will the next place be?
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I tell him I feel like these games are way more exhausting than coaching the high school games.
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Yoga pants back on.
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Three deadlines that all need attention. But I know that I also need a nap.
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There is still so much. Too much.
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What do I need?
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Ready to move on.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Three
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The bite of the chill.
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The floorboard heater is burning the tops of my toes.
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Always just a few more things I need to do that can’t get done.
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I can’t help myself and get two OG donuts.
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I tell her that I’ve already made peace with the fact that I have to leave. That I’m not even cleaning, just thinking about what needs to go in the trash so I can prepare to pack.
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I tell her that there were moments I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. But I’m still glad we did it.
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I just need space to visualize what could be next.
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We figured it out. We figured it out. I send him an email with a lot of exclamation marks.
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Perception.
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Very tired.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-Two
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Cold and yet hot.
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Blood-orange cake from a box.
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Pouring the last glass of orange juice is always a bittersweet moment.
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I remind myself that this is only the first week of this and that is why it feels so hard. We will find a new way.
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The audacity. The hubris. The delusion.
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I sit in the boardroom alone, listening to the gentle sound of the rain. Rain. Rain. It’s raining. Wet concrete. Damp air.
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Zoom calls from the school pick-up line.
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There has to be a better way.
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“When was the last time I had to use my mouthguard?” I ask him. “When was the last time I couldn’t open my mouth to eat breakfast? That just tells me how bad it was.”
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Something has got to go.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety-One
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Still just a little sweaty.
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Out of crime.
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Am I thinking of everything?
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The logistics of this day are a challenge. But it is what it is.
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I can’t believe it is the last one. I wish we could have spent more time together.
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The warmth of the sun.
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A man is taking a picture of a woman who is standing in front of a vineyard full of sheep.
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Bubbles and a setting sun.
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Why are there so many chicken breasts?
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Really need to go to sleep.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Ninety
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Still a frog or two.
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Dressing for the end of the day and not the beginning.
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But no one wants to be screaming at anyone at 7:18 in the morning.
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I take the call in the car at the dealership. I feel guilty for the idling car but I need the wi-fi.
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I forget that there’s no service when going over the mountain.
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The relief of an almost empty inbox.
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They forgot to tell me.
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I turn off the car and roll down the windows, let the harvest playlist cycle through while I write the emails.
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Thank goodness for the accidental Home Chef order.
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Really could just eat bread and butter all night long.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Nine
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Tired. Yes.
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I think I’ve already had too much coffee.
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Monday morning meeting bliss.
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I tell her that even with how stressful the mornings can be, I am grateful that I get to take my kids to school every day.
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She starts talking and I go from confusion to excitement to relief. I take the phone downstairs so he can listen to what she is saying. “There is a meeting today, and if you can come, that would be great.”
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I walk by the building and see a group of Black people which is not something I have ever seen in this place and I am curious.
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Photoshoot on the patio. The smell of scallops. The colors of the baby pickled radishes and pea shoots.
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It wasn’t just three more parents. From the corner of my eye, I see people walking in through the doors, sitting down in chairs.
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There is one voice who says he doesn’t think it’s the school’s responsibility to teach anything but academics. But I don’t think that’s what the rest of in this room believe.
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Change is coming.
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Deep, deep gratitude.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Eight
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Sunlight through the trees.
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I grab my camera and decide to take a walk down to the property. Maybe I should work here more often just for the walk.
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Beauty in its simplest form.
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I lay out on the grass in the sun. Craving summer.
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Sweaty.
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I almost miss the family call. What happened to my alarm.
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I text her that I’m coming and not to leave before I get there.
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It was supposed to be a potluck but I had no capacity for cooking. It appears as though I wasn’t the only one.
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One bottle of 2020 Orixe Sotelo Albor.
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Why is everyone still awake?
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Seven
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Still dark.
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What’s the first thing on the list?
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She texts me a picture of a coffee pot and I am on my way.
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Coyote medicine.
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I tell her that I could almost cry because now I know that I am not the only one. It’s really not just me.
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I take a peek at the scoreboard between quarters and nod my head. This is a close game.
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So much gratitude.
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The first thing she says to me is, “when are we moving to the floor?”
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Hair day.
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Something needs to change.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Six
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Shirt sticking to me. Wet sheets again.
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I send her a Marco Polo while the water heats up.
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The list is long, always so long.
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Sometimes there is so much talking and not enough doing.
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No need for shoes, right? I'm not getting out of the car.
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I catch myself getting caught up in the things not being said.
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“I’ve learned that these outdoor practices are no good at all.”
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I keep blowing the whistle because I simply can’t yell anymore.
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Pizza again.
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They ask me what I want to watch. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be asleep in 30 minutes anyway.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Five
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4:05. Oh no.
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Waiting for the whistle.
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But the ramen is good and warm and it is so cold.
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I see the news. Last night he asked when will Russia invade the Ukraine? “Imminently,” I said. “Very soon.”
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I text her and ask her if she can recommend something that might be approachable. Because she cried again last time we met and we’re supposed to connect this morning to work on an email to send to parents, and I want to send her all the resources before we talk again.
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I make a list: Here is what I sent the parents of the friends of my kid. Here are some resources for you all as educators. Here is a list of resources and books for you, personally, to give you context for the past conversations we’ve had.
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He stops me as I head up the stairs and asks me if I’m the basketball coach at the high school. He tells me who is daughter is and how she almost didn't play. How this year she loved it so much and came home after every game so excited and so proud of herself and that he could see how much she’d grown.
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Red turtleneck. I can tell by the look on her face. She is not interested in talking. She did not read anything. She just read the article headline. She must have gotten stuck on the “white woman tears” part. And if she had actually read the article, then she would have understood why those two times she cried were a problem. Perhaps I was too optimistic in thinking that we could continue to have a dialogue.
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I text my friend. 4.5 minutes long. That’s how long the conversation was.
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I love learning all of these things.
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This time with her gives me comfort.
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I have to remember that sometimes doing the right thing is uncomfortable.
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There is more good than bad.
Ten.One Thousand, Six Hundred & Eighty-Four
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Uh-oh. 4:00am. Might as well get up.
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Feels like an instant ramen kind of morning.
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He asks me if I want coffee. I hesitate. I shouldn’t but I will.
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I am still feeling out of sorts.
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I grab salad and two slices of pizza and sneak out of building. The ladies on the podcast call it an Irish exist, but I’m pretty sure it’s racist to say that.
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I feel much better after our conversation. I stare out at the vineyard and turn on the music and turn off the crime.
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Plan of attack.
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I tell him that it’s take-out tonight.
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Wait. Did I scare her? I just couldn’t muster up the energy to pretend.
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Owl.