On Sundays...

On Sundays...

Mom tracks my location.
When I arrive, there's a glass of water and a cup of SPILL tea waiting for me.

The conversations take a familiar direction.
Almost script-like.
I listen more than anything.
Because there's nothing like the live performance.

And when the inevitable quiet spaces start cropping up...
...I don't make any attempt to fill them.

I embrace them.

And let the gravity of life sink in.
Whether the words are spoken or not.

I feel it...
...and I think they do too.

Saturday...

1/25/2025 - Saturday - 8:02AM

Sitting at the butcher block.
Mady and Sara are getting ready for haircut appointments.
Dogs walked.
Coffee made.
Dishwasher emptied.
Recycling taken out.
Laundry flipped.
Drinking water before that first magical cup of coffee.
Futsal for Liam today at 2PM.
Emmett’s birthday party for Ollie ar 230PM.
Last week I deleted all of my social media accounts except for LI.
Look at me.
The rebel.
A feable attempt to reduce the noise, distractions and nonsense.
Who gives a fuck really?
What I do.
What I don’t do.
Anyone on the outside looking in will just think it’s performative.
So here I sit.
Writing, because I like to see it.
Thinking about nothing and everything.
Listening to Chewie lick the floor or his paw or whatever he can find that’s worth licking.
Finn sitting alongside my leg in his own nervous way.
Like he’s being protective or somehow knows that I’m suffering in some way or another.
He’s good like that.
Dad got a port put back in yesterday for his ongoing treatment of Plavicto.
Mom is having a stint put into her brain Feb 19th to address her aneurysm.
I’ve been binging shows on Apple TV.
Silo.
Slow Horses.
Severance.
Other sources of distraction.
It’s all distraction in the end, isn’t it?