- Day one.
- I leave the switch and write instead by the steel blue light of the rising day. A blanket of clouds behind the rooftops teases rain, and I wonder what today holds, savoring the quiet but listening for thunder.
- The one thing I don’t like about fishing is the chasm of disappointment between a tug on the line and reeling it in empty. Doing it with sand between my toes and a beer in my hand is one thing; doing it with my livelihood is another.
- I sense the thinnest edge of resistance–more skittish than awkward–but I pretend not to notice, preferring the familiar patter I’ve missed these quiet years to the hurt we pretend not to feel.
- I’m getting used to feeling hungry.
- For four hours, we talk, laugh, reveal, and encourage the way we should have five years ago. How much we’ve grown.
- “It’s not about how to juggle all this stuff at once anymore; it’s about choosing which thing I’m going to drop each day.”
- I pray viciously against the darkness, railing against signs too early to be noticed by anyone except another victim. You cannot have her.
- Caffeine at 7:30pm. #rebel
- Let us not grow weary.
