Ten.Seven Hundred & Twenty-Five
So brisk. I love it. I love long-sleeved mornings, drinking coffee without sweating.
Cinnamon bread toasted, with butter. A handful of cherries.
All of this laundry. It will get done. It will get done. Everything that needs to get done will get done.
What has shifted today? The feelings are different.
At least now we know which means we can move on. And is it awful to say that in some way I’m relieved? I remind him that in the dream, he wasn’t excited about the news.
But here’s the thing I know: We do things and we get things done. And everything happens for a reason. And sometimes the things you think you really want don’t come to you because they aren’t as right for you as you thought they were.
I’m not really sure how people drink more than one cocktail at a time.
He refuses dinner. They all think he’s crazy. How can you not like risotto? How can you not like beurre rouge? Or salmon? What happened to your palate? At least he eats Caesar Salad.
The end of 33.