Hush Little Baby

I’m unsure what to write about: My lackluster job at being a duck mom? The new couple I’m working with? Our trip to the ocean in the morning?

Or something else.

I can hear a murmur of “Mary Had A Little Lamb” sung by Dave one room over. I’m writing, yet slightly annoyed it’s taking Evelyn longer to settle, but at hearing the tune, the hard edge around me has softened.

Want to hear a scary two-sentence story I wrote for my writing exercise this week? “Ending the virtual call with friends and family, I excused myself from my shipmates, stepping outside onto Planet 471-B’s jagged, ashy floor to reflect on the past year and my long trip home. After taking a few steps into the darkness, I heard a familiar metallic click and turned to catch eight eyes looking out at me through the window, each of their hands moving in a back-and-forth motion as the thrusters kicked into gear.”

I told Dave I didn’t want to write tonight. “What would happen if you skipped a night?” he asked. I shared that my desire to do so daily is as strong as his commitment to sobriety. “For how long?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

Until I die? Or how about until my old, bony skeleton fingers can’t clink a keyboard? I’ll go with whichever comes first.

Love, Jaclynn