Woke up remembering a poem of Tyler Knott Gregson’s…a residual sentiment from last night.
But this morning I am firmly in a house in need of cleaning, with classical music playing, the smell of maple sausage coming from the kitchen, and a cat staring me down across a chessboard.
Every weekend I try to arrange it so that I have one day in which I don’t need to leave the house. Today’s that day. The ache has receded and I feel ready to tackle a list of both writerly and mundane tasks!