Of itchiness, settling into this new work, and the value of natural lighting.

  1. Seven hours is enough.
  2. “When was it ever the case that language could truly describe reality?”
  3. Where do you think of when you think of home?
  4. Growth creates gaps. Success and happiness are determined by how we fill them–and with what.
  5. It’s hard to summarize 10 years when you’ve tried to forget so much of it.
  6. I need to raise my rates. But impostor syndrome.
  7. Walk through.
  8. A bonus round of productivity. I put in all the hours today yet somehow didn’t finish my list. The perils of freelancing.
  9. Al fresco.
  10. I lose the light and everything is off. Over an hour of work and all that makeup for nothing. Tomorrow. I’ll nail it tomorrow.


Of broken dishes, possible food poisoning, and remembering how to be unavailable.

  1. Three late nights in a row threaten to derail my nascent self-care practices. Exhaustion and ghrelin push tender emotions to the surface, but there is no time to care for them.
  2. Glass and porcelain smash on the kitchen floor. I’m certain I did the wrong thing by swooping in to clear the mess. Assuming helplessness serves no one.
  3. A laurel wreath.
  4. Everyone is salty. Me, my kid, the other kids, teachers, other parents. We blame the weather and laugh it off, but are unable to hide the edge of hysteria in our voices.
  5. Few things are as horrifying as biting into a shrimp that doesn’t taste quite right.
  6. I don’t care about the wine glasses, but I’m still annoyingly upset about the broken dish.
  7. How do you keep trying when there’s no reward for doing so?
  8. I’m worried they won’t find anything. I’m worried that they will.
  9. “I have to work.” The words taste strange as I say them to people grown used to my stay-at-home-parent availability, including myself.
  10. In bed before 9. I have a club meeting first thing in the morning.


Of being God’s masterpiece, facing the consequences of dinner parties, and a less-late bedtime.

  1. The 5am club does not meet on Sunday. At least not this Sunday. 5.5 hours was already not enough sleep.
  2. Poema
  3. The meantime is what happens between the seed and the harvest.
  4. “Tell it again. This time, for them.”
  5. It’s often the things we accept as normal that do us the most damage.
  6. The price you pay for not being a Martha is a mountain of dishes the next day.
  7. I give in to the hunger. I smother my defeat in refined sugar and carbohydrates. I write off the day but am determined to take the whole thing to Him in the morning. Something is out of order.
  8. There should be a Parentlympics. Pretty sure we could medal in Tag-Team Napping.
  9. It’s just pizza. It’s just money.
  10. She’s embarrassed, but I’m relieved. Exhaustion stole all my cleverness, making me useless to the group, and I couldn’t muster the courage to excuse myself. Grateful.


Of adjusting poorly, a mighty sneeze, and how being a decent baker doesn’t help you make a fridge pie.

  1. The 5am Club meets on weekends.
  2. My stomach growls early, and breakfast doesn’t sate. I’m not adjusting.
  3. Another one of those frustrating days I spend driving between destinations getting very little done except crushing my podcast backlog. I try to look at it as an investment in self-care: forced rest.
  4. “I think he’s in orbit.”
  5. On June 29th, it will be four years since I last published a novel. It feels like seeing your first love at a wedding: nostalgic longing unhinged from place and time, both aching to recapture what was and grateful that it’s over.
  6. What do you say after 1o years?
  7. Thought for thought versus word for word.
  8. Banoffee soup.
  9. You know it’s real when you can talk God and politics around the table for five hours and still be friends when you leave.
  10. Benedryl.


Of unexpectedly racy stories, a dangerous thought, and being thirsty in the traditional sense.

  1. I’d be warmer if I ran, but the ache in the missing bone reminds me she’s right: Walk until you can run.
  2. “I had always detonated each thing in the very place where I found it.”
  3. Literary short fiction leaves me with an odd taste, a sense of missing the point that’s bitter and foreign, like the wrong sweetener in my coffee. A resigned longing for understanding that I don’t have time to tease out.
  4. There has to be a name for this gear, this organic way I write about ideas all the time. It used to be my job. I’m beginning to think it may just be me.
  5. A perfect sky.
  6. What if we just went for it?
  7. I fixate on the price, the time, the price, the work, the price, the pitch, the price.
  8. She has no idea what the word means, but hearing it in her tiny, innocent voice shoots ice through my veins and knots my stomach. I’m not ready for this.
  9. His life as an example given in metaphor. The greatest parable ever told.
  10. I mean to take a sip to wash down the half sandwich before bed but chug the entire liter. I wish my body and I could come to an understanding about much water and when. Neither of us appreciates the midnight pee run.