summer
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Hello from the end of a better day, and the end of the container of shredded Parmesan. I made some writing progress last night, which felt good, but ultimately what difference does it really make? I guess you could say the same thing about showering. Or waking up. Or eating. We do it to do
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Hello from the end of sick time, from wondering if my daughter needs a diagnosis, from going to swim lessons and gymnastics and being happy happy happy to going back in the car and back to screaming and throwing and kicking. Hello from standing in the bedroom, wearing the baby again, swaying because all of
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Hello, from summer, who is back. Summer is back, but it doesn’t feel the same as it did last week. Or, maybe it does feel how it actually felt, but it doesn’t feel how I remember it feeling, free from guilt and dread and second guessing and decisions that feel impossible. Instead of thinking about
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Hello I say with my T rex arms, shortened because of the extra large 5 month old I have strapped to my chest. Let’s take a breath together. Smell the flowers, blow out the candle. It’s time to decide about that scene, that vestigial scene that doesn’t quite fit anymore. That’s the problem with editing
How not to 