make bed do laundry
- grocery list
room charge phone talk at some point to ser dude again hope the washing machine did not break. (Did not)
It is so strange to me that when you are journaling daily, you become hyper-aware of how the actions of the day will convert into text. What you can get words out of, what has absorbed thought like a sponge and will provide a shower if you just twist a bit. And what is dry as a bone and best left as forgotten as things half-remembered can be. Now, not writing down the daily activities mean that this awareness comes with a burden attached. I know when a happening is full of story and you can’t, not without physical pain, just mark down co-worker quit and leave it be at that.
Because I was not expecting that. I was hoping for an exit that did not demand my awareness of yet another stratum on this tiramisu of drama. But it makes sense that if I needed to go, everyone really does. And it feels like Pisa is at a 45 degree angle now and nobody has the strings to pull it all the way aright. So tomorrow requires just seven hours of…what, I don’t precisely know, because we’re not pulling a magnificent edifice back onto its foundations in seven hours, so I don’t know what lies between that and just throwing up my hands.
This is my parents’ work ethic – even if they’ve long said, just go – I am, so wildly grateful that I have a place to just go to. Of course, there are other elements to this, other layers of mascarpone to dig through that I am not willing to share as they’re not mine to do so, but I am just glad that I am able to walk and not have myself in a blind panic about what is next.
So, yeah, I am grateful. For so many things. For the desire to write flowing through me, for how J. sounds when he says chicanery so casually there’s not even a chance to comment on it, for tacos that taste like those tacos do, for a spongy mind.
Off we go.