Get up before 6am. There is no way to not know what you already know.

Coffee. Food. Write something, anything, just not be silent.

Notice the unreasonable warmth for this late in autumn, notice the strong southern wind pregnant with rain.

Meet a neighbour on my morning commute and talk all the way about love and motherhood and future. Not mention the election once. It’s incredible how much I know about this woman and how much she knows about me just from these few shared commutes.

Change the planters for our office plants first thing in the morning. Feel earth and water and permanence of the good things.

Eat lunch at ten in the morning. Try to write emails and fail. Try to write something else and almost succeed. Text people who I love that I love them.

Go to therapy. Cry for the first time on my way there. Cry almost all the way through my session.

On my way home, see through the bus window that through small openings in heavy inky clouds shows the beautiful orange of sunset. Cry the rest of the way.

Go for a walk at night, wishing I’d thought of putting on my running gear. Try to write a course paper on Indigenous spirituality and fail. Instead, spend an hour on YouTube listening over and over and over to one song. L’Amérique pleure.