I am sitting in a Starbucks off of Main Street. It is Sophie’s third day of preschool, where she will spend 2.5 hours every Monday through Friday for the next 10 months or so. Let’s just say that that gives me 2 hours to myself, given that I will need time to drop her off and pick her up. So that's 10 hours a week. 40 hours a month. 400 hours over the next 10 months, give or take.
I had spent three and a half hours at the VW dealership which was about three hours longer than I expected. I had spent $150 which was about $130 more than I could afford to spend. Isn't that the way it always goes with cars? Something is always leaking or flat or old or broke, which is also an apt way to describe what it feels like postpartum.
Today is Juneteenth. I only recently found out what this day is about when I was at the library with my kids and there were a few books displayed concerning the holiday, next to more books about freedom and the 4th of July.
There were goats. Three of them in all, a set of twins included. Sophie took it upon herself to feed them snippets of leaves through the fence, chatty and happy.
It's become a part of my routine to listen to The Daily, a podcast produced by the New York Times and hosted by Michael Barbaro. They are shortish 20-30 minute pieces about what's going on in the country/world, mainly in politics, but sometimes they will do stand alone stories.
Whenever we move, I always have this idea that when we get to wherever we are going, I'll turn myself into the type of woman that wears lipstick.
As I headed out to my car last night after the end credits rolled for A Quiet Place, I was hyperaware of the silence. I noticed every step I took, the slamming of my car door, the wind moving the bare branches. I got home and the door to my daughter's room creaked as I opened it to tuck her in before I went to bed—I died. I shuffled papers on the counter—I died.
As soon as I woke up, nearly naked, I immediately closed my eyes in defeat and remembered the night before. I had intentionally tried to draw blood. I was antagonistic and aggressive and mean. I had meant to initiate sex, thus why I was naked, but I was tired and annoyed for a reason I can't explain; so I initiated a fight instead.
Last month, Justin Timberlake released a new album titled Man of the Woods that got quite the gamut of negative reviews.
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
