Lala is making bacon and eggs in the kitchen. She’s wearing her pink flannel pajama bottoms with the horseshoes on them and a Boudin sourdough tee-shirt. I’m in my nightgown with yoga pants underneath. Hott.
I’ve been writing in my room. Trying to, anyway, around the myriad animals who keep lolloping through the room.
Clara just ate a stick of butter. Paper still on.
I have a new desk that beloved friends ganged up to buy for me. (Actually, they just gave me the money and ordered me to go get something good, something solid. A real desk.)
Isn’t is GORGEOUS? It’s solid oak, and will last forever. The kind of desk you want to get under in an earthquake. That left drawer is actually a slide-out keyboard tray, and I have a new wireless Mac keyboard and mouse (SO GREAT) also paid for by my friends, so I’m mostly ergo! At home! Unreal. I have a real office now. I look out at the pink house across the street, and I hear the next-door neighbor kids helping their dad Sam build a skate-board ramp. A very good start to the day.
Except for the missing butter.
Get a Free Short Story!
Subscribe to get a free copy of Socks for Alex, a Cypress Hollow Short Story, compatible with all devices!