Today is busy but feels lighter somehow. The light creeps in so much earlier than before, lingering later, like a good Devil with a bad habit, hanging around a halo that will never fit, even if he uses violence. I don't feel as if winter weighs as much as it did yesterday. We've caught up on floors and bathrooms, everything is clean. Changed the beds today. Ruth's car appointment. A whole heaping ton of laundry and I made lunch for Henry who is buried in schoolwork and has hardly seen the light of day. I gave all the animals their nail trims and burned some incense to try and bring back the heady bonfire smell that was all over Lochlan when he came to bed last night and I died a thousand deaths trying to keep up with him besides. That's our foreplay. Smoke. Fire. Sparks and ashes. Flame and char. Best smell in the whole world after fresh cold salt.
Today was sunny and clear and cold. We opened all of the windows and chased away all of the ghosts. We found a new routine in an old day and challenged ourselves to be-
You can do it. Sam is encouraging and leading, almost. Just think of something optimistic. Like that little magnet that says Today I will be a bird with a french fry.
I can't do it. I'm not an optimist, I'm an alarmist. The glass is never half-full of half-empty even; it's always too close to the edge and about to fall off and break.
Today I will...
That's it. Come on.
I will be...
You can do it, Sweetheart.
Today...I will be a black bear with Bridget's severed head!
THIS is why you need therapy. No one says shit like that.
It's a better visual than a fucking FRENCH FRY-
Not really.
Well, I think it is.