Sitting at the dog park, wondering how long a good mom would let a cooped-up dog play before she gets to go home and answer emails. Or at least act like she’s going to answer emails and then say fuck it, more wine.
Losing sight of said dog, running through disaster scenarios (losing my dog is one right?) and then calling her, having her gallop back. That’s one good thing.
I’m overwhelmed at the moment and need my phone to know what temperature it is because I’m too busy to ascertain what it actually feels like. There’s a very small bird chirping on the branch above my head and a man from the nearby hospital just walked by with a tube in his throat and a mask over his mouth. I wonder how sick he is.
And I’m bad at perspective and I won’t stop wishing I’d gonna for a run or vacuumed my floor or not eaten that chocolate bar but I think it’s seventy degrees out and as far as I know I’m not sick at all. That’s one of many good things and I’m actively reminding myself to suck it up.
Dont blink! They say. Fuck that. Blink a lot until your vision clears and your tunnel vision refocuses on just being alive with legs and arms and shit. I’ll forget this soon but for now it brings me a tiny sliver of peace.