Ten.Five Hundred & Seventy-Seven
Don’t want to get up.
If only. If only everyone would do what I asked the first time I asked it.
Now all three of the magnolias are in bloom. Bright pink petals against the clear blue sky.
I think of my friends back in Chicago. I think of the cold. I think of how me moved at the very right time.
Flash cards and more flash cards. The good thing is that some of this I really do remember. 54 days.
Afternoon crash. A little bit of tightness in the throat.
More Alice Munro in the pick-up line. I don’t want to put it down. I wonder how many accidents occur because people are trying to read and drive at the same time?
When you’re trying to listen to the New Yorker Poetry podcast but people keep coming in to talk to me. Futile.
Can’t get warm enough. The irony of being someplace considerably warmer than where you left but also needing to be conscious of your energy usage which means keeping the house at such a low temperature that your hands and feet are constantly cold.