Allemande Left

  • make bed
  • do laundry
  • grocery list
  • bathroom
  • 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.

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