I woke this morning knowing I’d turned a corner. Not loudly, not with a sunrise and a soundtrack, but the kind of quiet shift you almost miss unless you’re paying close attention. Grief is sneaky like that: one morning, your body remembers how to breathe before your mind does. Today, I feel lighter. 

As if some secret courier had slipped my cares into their theoretical basket and carried them off. I’m so grateful. 

Word Raccoon said she never doubted we’d get here again, that we are indomitable. I told her she’s thinking of “Domino’s,” the pizza place.

She also told me as we were leaving the house for the café that it was fine that we weren’t wearing earrings, that we “probably” had some in our beauty pouch. 

Reader, we did not. But the café has a rack of locally made ones, and WR casually suggested I buy a pair of heart-shaped earrings before I even ordered tea. I told her I was onto her, but I bought them anyway. 

I’m supposed to have lunch with a friend later, but first: all things poetry. I’ll be submitting, sorting, maybe writing something new if the caffeine hits just right. (I’m thinking it’s hitting a little too much just now.) 

(Also, note to the friend who brunched with Mopey Drema yesterday: I probably owe you a text. You got the gray-cloud version of me, but today I feel a little more sun-dappled. Do-over soon?)

Last night, after dinner the guys playfully fought over who would get to take the leftovers of the meal I made for lunch today. Barry won. I caught up with Jeff for a few minutes and then excused myself to watch Gilmore Girls in the background upstairs while I submitted poems to places I probably shouldn’t have since I was in emotional hiding mode. 

Two packets felt off the second I hit send, but I was already in deep, so here we are. But you never know. 

I cleaned out four of six drawers of my downstairs desk/vanity today, so see, progress. My friend I’m meeting for lunch will be getting a gift bag full of my previously-reviewed treasures. Some of them are funny, some are practical. Some are still pretty cool but I refuse to be a packrat. 

I tried to convince myself I’d actually wear the watch. Reader, I will mean to, but I will not. In the box it went.

My mantra for fall decluttering is “Better, not perfect.” And “Less is more.” 

WR says her mantra has better in it, too: “Better not get rid of any of my earrings.” 

Don’t tell the café, but the tea I chose this morning would make a better tub cleaner. Or maybe since I am (I hope) over the worst of the long, dark tea time of the soul (definitely a Douglas Adams reference) we should’ve gone for something herbal. 

(I’m listening to Gilmore Girls now while writing. Ooh, we’re up to Season 1, Episode 10. Luke and Lorelai are at the hospital with her father, even though Luke hates hospitals. He says “I’ll be here,” when she goes in to see her dad. She sees his effort and loves him for it. And that is everything, Word Raccoon says.)

Settle down, WR. There are a lot of seasons to make it through yet. 

Then again, much like submitting poetry, you never know.