Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy
I want the dream to continue. I can feel everything.
I added the cream before the butter. Silly accident. This has never happened to me before. I laugh to myself. I hope they turn out.
Sun, sun, sun.
I decide that I want to listen to David Sedaris read Miranda July’s “Roy Spivey” while I take a walk.
So much sun. Still a little brisk but I stick to the sidewalks without the shadows for maximum exposure.
I find the hoe and the seeds she sent me. I hope they take. It would sure be something to see the blank spaces in the garden bed fill up with poppies this spring.
I pick a lemon and two oranges. The scent of fresh citrus is my new favorite.
Insurance. Phone call after phone call after phone call. Adulting.
La petite mort.
What I miss about that year was that, for a very short period in my life, I felt very safe and very free. It’s not the youth I miss, it’s the freedom.