Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Seven
In the dream, we are all squished into seats on a bus, but the bus isn’t moving. It’s like our makeshift office, and it captures exactly what it’s like to sit in the office. And we’re trapped.
I don’t smell any coffee yet.
The “after” is the best part.
Late morning pages and coffee. It still feels cool in the shade, but I can tell the heat is coming.
What is this feeling of dread?
Pulling the pieces together.
“Three words you want to identify your program this season.”
I tell them that I really needed this call; now, I’m feeling inspired.
He looks bigger somehow.
I ask her if my friend sent the flowers. She said no; she bought them for me. I’m doing something right.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Six
At first, I think he’s waking me to tell me something has happened to the big kid. But it’s him; he wants to run up the hill to the hospital.
For some reason, the kid holding the balloon in the mural reminds me of Bobby Hill.
Almost three hours, but back home. I put my pajamas back on and crawl back into bed.
Icy feet.
1 p.m. The whole day gone, but I clearly needed the rest.
Linkin Park, windows open, driving a little faster than I normally would.
He asks if the new hair has made me a new person. I explain that it’s an interesting situation. As I said to them, there’s a difference between choosing to have short hair versus it simply happening to you. But maybe I’ll feel different once it’s all done.
At least, I feel like I’m in a position to move forward with a plan while maintaining some sense of confidence.
I realize that I haven’t eaten all day. I pile my plate with pasta and eat three slices of garlic bread. A glass of low abv Chardonnay.
She says it’s cute. I believe her.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Five
Stretch. Core. Walk.
What’s that rustling in the leaves?
He tells me I can drive his car to work today. I slide in and am so far back, it feels like I’m slipping into the back seat. At least it’s clean.
Coffee in the dark.
Actually. Turns out that it’s nice to work in a quiet and dark office. I’m reminded of the old days in St. Helena when I could get to the office in six minutes and start my day with no one in the building.
He tells me that he’s looking forward to being able to actually wear a hat again.
Finding the shaded portion of the bleachers.
Sometimes, I just need something deeper.
I found someone. I found a little bit of relief.
Les Français.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Four
Progressive load.
I don’t even hear them leave for school, but I know they’re always out the door on time.
That feeling of wanting to help someone but not knowing how.
No shame. I just think, is this how you’d like to be treated?
Vineyard walk after lunch. I know they hate seeing us find ways to inject joy into our days.
What a wild week.What wild weeks. A wild month. A wild summer.
I can’t believe it’s finally Thursday, and I had the first two days of the week off.
Two hot dogs because I know I’m behind on my protein. Looking at the watch to see what time it is. Thank goodness the volleyball game started late. Back to being double-booked. Wait, varsity is best 3 out of 5?
I don’t know what word to use to describe this feeling yet. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything in my current vocabulary.
Should have had her bring home some ice cream.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Three
D-Day.
He’s always sitting outside on his deck in the morning. I think he lives alone; I’ve only ever seen his silhouette in the kitchen. I never wear my contacts on my walk, so I never know if he’s looking at me, so I pretend that I’m so locked in that I don’t notice him.
Moody, fall-like sky.
I’m going to be really late today.
I don’t even recognize myself.
I keep trying to get people to fight the system, but they are too scared.
He sends a TikTok link to the family chat and asks if he can make the dish for dinner. For the whole family? Of course you can.
Where is my car key?
I can’t find it because it isn’t here.
To Reddit, or not to Reddit.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-Two
Deep stretch. A little bit of weight. An easy walk. Gray sky.
Morning pages on the back deck as the sun breaks through the fog. Would love to have 3 more days like this.
Wait. Now, I’m confused. Was she imagining it all along? What was real? Or is the point that you don’t really know?
I can do it.
One class is loaded, but not the other, and it’s causing me a lot of anxiety. But at least the work for this one is due on Wednesdays and Fridays. These are the best days of the week for now.
I let him drive.
A big white truck pulled over on the side of the road. Beside it, a man stands at an easel painting the sunset. It makes me smile.
We both agree that “Papercut” is one of our favorite albums of all time.
But I don’t want to do it all, all of the time.
Walking toward.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty-One
I didn’t hear the alarm, and now it’s way later than I thought it would be. But maybe it’s okay that I’m missing today's workout.
The youngest two head out first, on time — early even.
The oldest comes down the stairs in his flannel and darn denim, pours himself a big cup of coffee and scoops pear crisp into a bowl. This all feels strange, but also nice.
I picked the wrong two days for PTO.
I don’t like any of the options it’s giving me.
I decide to take a walk around the neighborhood. A leisurely pace. He asks me if I’m exercising; no, just taking a break from the screens. The cool breeze keeps blowing through the back of my shirt-jacket.
This little kitchen project is taking way longer than I thought, but look at all the empty spaces in the drawers and under the cabinets. I’m sure it will all be undone within a month or two.
I think about how this compulsive need to clean the drawers is a reflexive need to feel some kind of control in a season of life where I’m going to lose a whole lot of it.
Jumpscares all over this show. My nerves can’t handle any more.
It’s just that I don’t see what I want.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Thirty
Space.
Who is she? What kind of choices does she make? How does she feel?
Making a list of all the places he might want to go for lunch after this little errand.
Empty hands
The three of us eat our lunch in the shade. It’s busy, but not crazy for a Sunday afternoon. He tells us little stories from his trip to Arizona and Vegas and Zion.
Supervising a car wash.
Something oddly satisfying about the taste of the cheddar and the chicken — “gringo tacos” we call them.
Not listening.
Second season of “Castle Rock.
Hard-boiled eggs, homemade granola, packs of fruit and cheese, pear crisp, protein muffins. Let’s see if I can keep up with this kind of production every week.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Nine
A blast from the past.
In the second dream, we are in a very tall building and hear a rumble. We hide under the counters as the building sways from side to side.
Am I fooling myself in thinking that if I just build in all the organization, I won’t feel the same way this year that I felt last year?
I hate shopping.
“To dream of an earthquake suggests that you are experiencing a major "shake-up" that is threatening your stability and foundation. The dream highlights your insecurity, fears, and sense of helplessness. Is there something in your life that you feel at "fault" for? If you find cover from the quake, you will overcome these challenges.”
Afternoon appointments in a black salon. This is why I haven’t been to one in over six years. Well, that, and living in Napa Valley.
Juicy chicken tenders. I get it.
I don’t think my Spotify DJ really gets me.
Why am I so thirsty? Parched, even.
Yoga tomorrow. And then two more extra days.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Eight
Methodical.
Clean.
I just realized that I haven’t eaten lunch. I blame it on the extra cups of coffee.
Where would I be without the group chat?
All the exclamation points.
“Oh my God, was that just on Monday?” Yes. That is how long this week has felt - 5,800 days long.
A big bowl of cold watermelon.
I don’t think it’s any coincidence that this class and the class before it were full of women. She says it’s just fun to craft with the girls.
I made a book. They say they hope to see me at the next one. I want to be able to say I’ll be there, but then I think of all the things I’ll be busy doing instead.
The constant negotiation.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Seven
Stretch and more stretch.
Maybe this is it.
One quarter of an Under-Study cinnamon roll. The very last bite, I taste a familiar flavor. Like that artificial sweetness or spice from those small cinnamon rolls you could buy at the gas station in the clear cellophane.
I knew I wasn’t going to be able to control myself. I’ve been daydreaming about a fight for the past 12 hours. And I’ve had too much coffee.
A crispy Pink Lady apple.
Perfect lunch weather.
Trying to remember all there is to look forward to. There are things to look forward to.
Like nothing happened.
I reschedule the doctor’s appointment because I just want the morning to feel easy and free.
The highlighter yellow color of Sonia Cirton’s shoes.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Six
The sound of rain.
Do I, or don’t I? I do.
I really need to get this timing down before the school year starts.
All of this is very ironic.
I recount a story about my neighbor Neal and how, during one summer, we used to go hours-long walks and have philosophical discussions. And we would wave to each other through our stairwell windows. That was the summer I was trying to learn how to play golf and I would hit practice balls in the backyard and on the empty lot across.
I remember that I am the timekeeper, which means I actually have the control.
Post-meeting walk. By the time we get back, we’re a little sweaty.
I feel like if I don’t clean out the kitchen drawers, I won’t make it through the semester. Or, like, the drawers are a representation of my mind at the moment: full, some of it useful, a lot of it not.
I extol the virtue of taking off work on the first day of school. I can’t wait.
A golden hour walk. A smile on my face. “Chihiro” and “Bittersweet”. A slow pace. Look at the way the valley below glows. This hill never gets any easier.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Five
Worth it.
Letting go.
I look at myself in the mirror and laugh. I look like a 40-year-old suburban mom from the South.
How is it only Tuesday? It feels like we’ve already lived a full week.
I’ve gotta stop wearing this jacket. Too many compliments. Too many questions to dodge. I gotta quit so I can wear it more freely.
This whole week feels like a Sunday full of scaries.
Afternoon walk with the crew. The heat is mild, and the breeze is gentle. The weather is so nice that we walk all the way to the end of the drive before turning around. The birds have gotten most of the good blackberries. The ones we pick taste dusty.
I print a lot of paper, but sometimes my eyes just need a break from the screen.
Weeknight chicken tagine. We have a conversation about quitting. About a team-first mentality. About the optics and the yet-to-be-known repercussions of doing so. About regret. About less, but better.
Usually he plays ocean sounds, but tonight I choose rain.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Four
Need to move.
Cool morning and lots of fog. Dog barking as the garage door opens.
I text her to let her know that I’m still getting dressed. What an incredibly late start.
Harvest/back-to-school traffic.
I skip the bubbles. I always do. I hold my coffee and a phone so that I can’t hold anything else. I hear him say that this is one of the lowest attendances we’ve had recently. Is she really taking a selfie? How quickly can I get out of here?
I guess I’m singing louder than I thought.
I tell them about my dream where I was trying to buy a lottery ticket — lottery tickets in bulk. Multiples of all the different kinds. $240 in all and my card wouldn’t work.
Sore tongue from too many Wint-O-Green Lifesavers.
Chicken parmesan meatballs.
“There’s a yearning for this life you are creating.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Three
I turn over onto my stomach and listen to the quiet.
Don’t think about it being Sunday.
Now the show is starting to pick up. Just like most of his books, this one is a slow burn.
Perhaps in another life, investigative journalism would be the job for me.
I stop at the threshold and appreciate the beauty of the light. How did we get so lucky? Oh yes, I asked for this.
Where’s the delivery?
But, really. Where is the delivery?
Tra Vigne pepperoni pizza. She reads the back of the salad bag to see where comes from. “It’s from California,” she says. Okay. We can eat it.
Reminding myself that this is something I get to be excited about. The internship means I am rounding the corner. It’s almost the end. And think of all the good I’ll be able to do.
School starts in a week.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-Two
Is it Friday? No, it’s Saturday. Thank goodness.
I am the source of time.
No plans. All the children are gone. A quiet house. Chores done.
He says we should get a hummingbird feeder for the ones hanging around.
I take a book out to the hammock and stare out over the trees. Five pages in, and I already feel my eyes start to close. Are those raindrops I feel?
“God doesn’t operate in confusion.”
It’s a small group of us in a little warehouse space. Shelves of clay and works-in-progress; sketches; a piano; a large structure made out of cardboard.
Purple mountains.
She says her great-grandparents are from St. Helena. Or, as she likes to say now, her grandparents displaced the Wappos from their ancestral lands. And this is not a phrase I thought I’d hear come from this woman’s mouth.
“Y’all don’t do background checks, bro?”
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty-One
TGIF.
I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t remember the last time I worked out.
Still need to problem-solve this hair issue.
The Coop is closed? Mini Model instead. Hot coffee, passersby, discovering connections. Realizing
Station Chopped Salad and that everything oatmeal cookie in the forest. Owl feathers everywhere.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited about a baseball game.
5,800.
Why is St. Helena so dead and Calistoga so much more vibrant?
Bubbles and golden hour with a view. Part business, part pleasure.
I think I’ve dug as deep as I can without needing to dole out some money.
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Twenty
I miss my morning walks, and I’m no less sore.
Do I dare get up and put myself in the line of fire?
I am not surprised at the non-answer. It was kind of the point.
Email 4 of 16.
Why do they hate sunflowers so much?
Neighbors and other recognizable faces. Rosé of Syrah. Sauvignon Blanc. Figs, grapes, cheese, dolmas.
PERMA and HARP (Having awareness. Alignment. Repair. Pace.) “Grace as fuel.”
Kind, curious, and courageous.
I walk by her and sense something. I start to sit next to her, but continue on to the couch with who’s familiar. I open my eyes early in the meditation and see her sitting on the floor. She introduces herself at the end. When she starts talking about Akashic records, I know the neighbor is going to walk away. They do.
Oh no. I forgot about the real reason I was there.
“Red thread of fate.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Nineteen
Sore and I’ve just woken up.
Walking up this hill is still so hard. Why?
It looks like they made it in time.
Popcorn. It’s the real butter. And the salt. Can’t stop eating it.
I feel like I’ve worked a whole day in four hours. Is it Friday yet?
The freedom of freelance.
She says we’re a well-oiled machine; that it’s like watching choreography. I know he doesn’t really want to hear it, but the reality is that we do good work together.
But what do we want?
Goodbye-bottles of Schramsberg.
“She doesn’t have any feeling for art.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Seven Hundred & Eighteen
The shrinkage of morningtime.
I’m going to need a solution for this very, very soon.
Warnings about bad juju. No, not for me. But you can feel it in the air.
I question whether or not I should use all caps, but decide that I REALLY need to communicate the feeling. I needed to virtually yell.
We decide on a late-afternoon walk instead. It’s not too hot—in fact, there is a gentle breeze. We are undisturbed.
Can’t seem to find my focus.
What’s the saying? “Hell in a handbasket”?
What a difference a year can make.
I tell her that now, when I pull my hair to the top of my head, I look like Cindy Lou Who from “The Grinch”.
Don’t break promises to yourself.