Ten.Six Hundred & Fifty-One
I don’t want to get up.
I make a mental list of all the things that need to be done. I keep my eyes shut. I need to erase about 10 things from this list.
One snail all alone.
I adopt the snails pace. One hand holding coffee, the other hand moving dirty clothes from the floor to the basket. There is enough time. More than enough time.
Crazy how one can feel guilty for establishing the boundaries they know are necessary for their health.
I think, maybe I’ve always known, that I’d have to do it my own way.
I resist the urge to buy the box of flavor blasted goldfish. I really want them. I will not buy them today. But I really want them. But I will not buy them. Not today, anyway.
Reading “Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat” in the sun. There is just enough of a breeze.
She says she thinks they grow corn in that field. I think of fall and the sound of dried up corn stalks rustling in the breeze.
It still needs a name.