bits and pieces
Days are filling up with small things of consequence.
This morning Molly and I punted on weightlifting in favor of coffee and quiet, sleepy conversation. You can’t photograph these moments of quotidian perfection, so the vignette is put into inadequate words here at words’ end.
This morning I noticed that my singing voice is getting stronger again. Must be springtime.
This morning I am thinking of late-night driving through city streets, and then on a perfectly picturesque winding highway, straight into the heart of Saturday night. Boston’s smaller highways are magic. If I could drive all the way out to the Nevada desert on them, awake and thinking and singing and arriving into the wide expanse of nowhere, I would. And I would channel Kerouac.
This morning I was fed pretend chamomile tea juice for breakfast by small children. Also, chocolate almond delight pizza.
This morning I fantasize about buying food with money from a reliable income source. Bonus: this would mean a job with a regular schedule, which in turn prooobably means I’d be making coffee or tea every morning. That’s a nice ritual I miss.
This morning I am restless and thinky and observing the undercurrent of sadness that runs through my days with a detachment I rarely achieve. All of this is illuminated by a flowy light somewhere in the middle of my ribcage, right under the skin.