Due to some recent broken knee hanky panky in the sack, an ache now throbs in my lower right spine.
Beckett is asking for a kiss and a hug. Her breath smells like sugary pizza and metallic earwax.
A pile of medical bills sits on my desk. I don't want to pay them. I'd rather do something else with that money. A trip to Tanzania. A pair of walkable shoes. A stocked refrigerator.
I cannot comfortably spell refrigerator.
The refrdsgerator hums. The reffridgeator festers.
One fly swarms around my studio occasionally bumping its multiple eyes into the window.
I bend my knee to 90 degrees, feel my weakened muscles tense and shake, then slowly straighten my leg again. This action is daunting, but necessary.
A stack of junk mail on my desk awaits shredding. This I will do tomorrow, with my teeth, as part of my Process Mundane project.
My grandma Dot sits alone in her house for the first time in her entire life. She will be 90 in a few days. I want the world to show up at her door to celebrate.