Ten.Five Hundred & Eighty-Nine
But I don’t really want to get up.
I start bacon and coffee, boil some eggs, drink water, prepare a nettle and oat straw infusion for the day.
The sun is pouring into the kitchen. I remember again that I live in California. That there’s no place to go because I am already here.
Too much coffee but it’s so good.
I inch myself beneath the blankets and journal. The children aren’t bothering me.
“What would happen if I just stopped?” Why is this a question I’m always asking myself. I try to write a newsletter. I want to talk about rest. I want to talk about the oranges. I want to talk about my confusion. But the confusion is so thick that I decide not to say anything at all. And I let that be ok.
It’s because I’ve outgrown the old skin and I’ve yet to stitch together a new form. I am amorphous.
I think of her grieving.
Someone keeps taking nibbles out of the leftover galette.
On to beer, sake, and spirits. 41 days.