8th November

The children have stopped screaming.

The rainwater started lightly, and soon fell in troughfuls.

Biden-Harris victory.

The sermon felt like weak soup.

Novemeber 8th.

A friend I barely know announced their wedding anniversary on Facebook.

What the — one small change at the heart — and some new bonds and conjugations is all it takes?

The children started screaming again (yes they can play on under the shelter which is characteristic of our public housing).

I want to do more home organisation, it relieves my stress and gives me a sense of control I suppose.

The flat is empty except for the cat and I, such richness to savour, and I choose to write this.

I think about all the things I wanted to write which I have forgotten, toady, this moment, on the eighth of November.

Just now I wrote in my journal.

I am angry with men.

Not a fan of postmodernist, deconstructionist constructs, they nonetheless helped me see and word some of my experiences.

A grief has permanently coloured my soul.

I saw a video I made a few months ago, just me yabbing about how glorious a new day is. How much Life is offered each day. There was sunshine, clouds, empty space and birdsong.

Right now, there is rain, safety and electricity and technology and a working brain with co-ordinating fingers to do this.

Breathe, Novemeber the 8th.