At 2:04pm I call it depression. 

At 10:04am I bubble. Talkative start. Stroller chat the jerk chicken guy, two yogis at Metropolis, Jodi at the ice cream place, and my 93 year-old neighbor whose name I forgot but then scrolled through every name in my phone to remember. Laverne. 

My sister stayed for lunch. I put leftover salad on two plates. Added a fried egg. My sister asked if she could have a banana. 

The tattoo apprentice in Macon messaged and asked if 2:30 would work. That was an hour ago. Twenty dollar tattoo. I need more notice, though. Tomorrow maybe? Maybe he says.  

Rain is in the air. I taste it on my tongue. This morning the sidewalk cement was grey from mist. Cold baby toes. I just rolled down my pant legs. Put on socks. Kate said if the soccer team made it to Nationals, she’d buy the baby and Adidas track suit. I said ugh. The team made it to Nationals. I said but she’ll only wear it once. Such a waste. The yogi at Metropolis said seems a small price for marital harmony. 

I’m going to put headphones in and longboard. Damn it if it rains. Poetry pushes my heart back down my throat. Not the poetry in school. Because you can’t teach heart hurt ache. 

I don’t write fiction anymore. Too many rejection letters. But here’s a line: “You’re flying, they say. But all I feel is feathers flapping. Dead weight. Falling against wind.”

While the baby slept, I thumb scrolled. Screen. Baby. Screen. Pale pink eyelids. Read an article on Isabelle Allende’s new book, which was inspired by a line from Camus. “In the midst of winter I found an invincible summer within me”


An invincible summer. Soon it’s time for bed. 8:17pm. Freud says when we fall asleep fears emerge. 

Wind whispers hussshhhhhhhhhhh. Don’t think so much.