Ten.Six Hundred & Eighty-Eight
I don’t want to dream about work.
The snail is gone. I forgot to check on it last night but it’s definitely gone today.
He’s on the sofa. Something about that long body scrunched up on the loveseat. And in a long robe. 11 going on 40.
All of their faces and their voices. I miss those Tuesdays.
I realize what it is . I tell her that they were reminders that I need to be able to access those feelings in order to feed my creativity. I keep avoiding that story. In avoiding the story I avoid the feelings. And if I am not able to feel the feelings, I can’t create.
Next time I’m making my hummus just like this.
We practice restraint. Instead of fun and funky I ask him if we can focus on the examinable grapes.
Open House night. I’m having one of those feelings of being incredibly uncomfortable. Foreign. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to go. I remind myself that next year will be easier because we’ll get to start from the beginning.
Everything takes time.