a different variety and set of objects are framing my periphery. things i used to worry about, people i disliked, thoughts i used to think, they all seem different. the worries i have are legitimate - about work, about school, about writing. i began this year taking a writing class with the mindset that i was a reader, not a writer, and now i'm thinking with some longing about getting even an article or essay published.

it's the small things like hanging up my clothes that have begun to derail -- it's the weekends i'm entirely alone that i manage to keep it together, it's the weekends that i'm entirely alone i have enough time to see the cracks in my own thinking.

camera lenses, refraction, sheer cream fabric, plants in pots, tea in cups, making better breakfast, the good bread, the coconut oolong, a glass of wine while homeworking, a new neighbor, and old friend, and those who have slipped out off my sight...these are as simple as it's become