Why does it feel so early? Oh, yes. It’s 4:30 am.
I open up the windows to let the cool air in before gathering a notebook and pen. He’s away and his light is on. I turn everything off and tell him to go back to sleep.
I turn on the garage lights and hop into the car before calling her.
This is the kind of work I feel I might be made to do.
I smile to myself. The hummingbirds must like the front porch better. There are more flowers here. I don’t know what they are but they remind me of hibiscus. The hummingbird just floats there, in front of me. It’s as if he wants to tell me something.
I still have no idea what I’m doing but I’m excited about what I might be able to learn. This will be good for me.
He’s right. I don’t have enough time.
I watch the shadows play. “Lamplight makes the shadows play/and posters take the walls away/the t.v. is your window pane/the view won’t let you down.” My eyes swell with tears. That song. Always this song. They’re just stress tears.
Cinnamon simple syrup.
Even cooler tomorrow.
So many strange dreams.
I divy up the leftover donuts and insist upon fruit for breakfast. He thinks 10 cherries is enough. I laugh. I take the last leftover blueberry muffin, warm it in the oven. These really are the most perfect muffins.
This week is not starting off like I thought I would. I’m letting that be okay.
All of these graham crackers are stale.
I grab something from the Haut-Medoc and something from Chile. I’m looking forward to today’s tasting group.
You know you’re a poet when you spend 5 minutes considering the importance of choosing between “on” and “at.”
I write the script.
I turn on Twilight Zone and listen to it with my eyes closed. Out of contacts plus an eyeglass prescription that’s too old equals tired eyes, hurting eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to parent yourself. Why did I wait so long before ordering contacts?
Leaking dishwasher. Water. Every rental, always water. It feels like some kind of sign.
Hawk. Right out the window. Vision. Focus. Lead. Energy.
I don’t want to dream that dream anymore. So strange.
I walk around the kitchen in circles trying to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Oh. Right. Make breakfast. Make coffee. Write Newsletter.
Less traffic today. 82 degrees. 82 degrees? It’s not even 9 am yet. Oh, it’s going to be hot. Very hot.
Refresh. Recharge. Recommit. - Myleik
Everytime I walk to this gate I see the dried up palm leaf. Today, against the cracked earth it looks like art. I walk back and take a picture of it. But I’m sure it will be here next week.
I shadow him to get an idea of how I could be better. It should be slow enough. The trolley driver and I chat. I said something about girlfriend and wife and we laugh. “I better not bring my girlfriend and wife on the same day.”
We’re all confused.
And then I end with Mr. W. We talk real estate. He recommends locations to me. “You think they made a FastTrak lane all the way out there for no reason?” “It’s in the design phase.” “Get all of your resources together to get whatever you can.” “I will email you the link to the house in Calistoga.”
He goes to the bedroom to watch baseball and I take myself and a glass of Sonoma Coast Vineyards Sauvignon Blanc to the patio. I pull up a chair on which to rest my feet and email Mr. W, check the weather for tomorrow. Today was a much better day. A good conversation can turn it all around.
Well that was a surprise. She showed up in the dream. We made pies. We had pleasant conversation. I miss her. I am sad.
Was the shorts.
Jordan Marsh’s Blueberry Muffins warmed with a big smear of Sonoma Clover butter. Coffee.
I don’t want to go.
But I have to go.
I just want to make home, have a beautifully curated home, eat good cheese, eat ice cream with the kids.
How will I make art today? How will I bring my version of art to work today?
I’d rather it stay slow in this kind of heat.
When people act this way I wonder: “Who hurt you?” “Who was your mother?” “How do you even have friends?” “How does it feel okay to talk to another person like this?” “Did no one ever tell you that golden rule to treat others the way you want to be treated?” “This is what’s wrong with our society: not enough empathy, not enough sympathy, not enough compassion.”
I think, maybe, sometimes, people just don’t want a little black girl to tell them “no.” No one likes to be told “no.”
I have to find a way of letting it go, of remember that it was only 3 of the 40 people I dealt with today who had a problem with me. So focus on the 37 who said “thank you” and gave you a smile.
I make the coffee, drink water while it percolates. I check the clock again. How much longer will I be alone.
I hear him open the blinds. He’s waking earlier and earlier. Too much on the mind.
I still can’t figure out exactly why they needed to make repairs to the road. I’m sure someone on Nextdoor is complaining about wasted tax dollars.
Work tomorrow and Sunday. I should make this an easy day.
We go over the goals. I forget how much can be accomplished in such short time. We make new goals, wonder about empathy, whether we should care about aging and whether it matters if we do.
I slink back into the hammock. Most of me is in the shade but I stick my legs out into the sun to feel the burn.
It’s so silly that he won’t eat the pasta because it has fresh tomatoes.
Still nothing. Still waiting. Still thinking that even if it doesn’t happen it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Because there’s still all of this.
Just remember the intention.