Saturday April 24th

Day 5

Yesterday the pussy cat was my shadow, clawing me with his green-eyed love-me hunger.

Today he is my mirror. My grey eyes say love me, look at me, approve of me, what about me?

I woke in the night and imagined a hundred better words than the ones I wrote yesterday. Usually, if someone is going to read them I worry away at my sentences - polish them like sea pebbles. Now that I’m entangled in this 21 days there is no time for bringing out the sheen. So I’m finding out what it’s like to feel raw, with a cornucopia of ingredients on my kitchen counter and I’m not sure what to make, how to slice it. I’m “under the brooding clouds”, as my lovely niece has said in her 100 day writing journey, “with holes in my shoes”. Taking steps.

This is what I notice today.

That I eat restaurant spicy noodles when what I want is cool avocado salad at home.

That my stomach twists and complains when I say yes to please my lovely man but it makes neither of us happy.

That in the park, in the distance, the white moon blooms of the magnolia trees look like a snow field and close up each flower is a single turned outwards star.

That when the pussy cat meows at me I don’t need to fill up his bowl with love, but I could see that mine is already overflowing. And I could make something out of that. Something worth celebrating. A feast maybe.