I can write so fast, I tell Dave. But between that sentence and this one, I pause—frustrated by the keyboard keys that don’t respond without an extra-strong push. The stickiness under the “n” and the uprooted enter key had me browsing refurbished laptops before I thought: What if this one could just be repaired?
So, Saturday at 5:30pm, I have an appointment at Best Buy. Supposedly, Apple technicians hang out there for people like me—people who don’t want to make the hour-and-a-half drive to Atlanta. A much more reasonable option. Thanks, Apple.
I’m feeling jittery. Two back-to-back sessions today, both of which had me drawing hard boundary lines, left my body buzzing. It’ll calm down soon, I know, but man—get me talking about boundaries and I get fired up.
I went for a run today. Not on the treadmill, but on the road. The sun was high and hot, but I loved the stretches of pine shade and the occasional breeze. Nothing remarkable to note, except my knees felt strong and my hips felt tight. I’ll take to the carpet after this and swivel my legs back and forth to loosen them up.
Yay, it’s my Friday. I keep looking at the fading cedar posts around the front and back patios, thinking about staining them. It’s such an easy job to push to “next week” again and again. But imagining how good they’ll look, and how satisfying it will be to have it done, I can feel a little spark of motivation building.
I’m feeling a bit vulnerable tonight. A bit exposed. In the past, I’d drown this feeling with food or wine. It’s a hard feeling to sit with, but I think it’s calling for less numbing, more grounding—more connection with the earth. Hands in the dirt kind of connection. Which makes me think: now that I’ve cleared the weeds from the small garden bed, I’ll churn in a few shovels of compost and get it ready for the next planting.
Fall crops are in order: more arugula, lettuces, cilantro, and whatever other seeds I can dig up. I even have several volunteer tomato plants sprouting up—one already has a flower. How cool will it be if I get a tomato from my accidental tomato plant?
Whelp. My leg’s been crossed this whole time, and now my foot’s asleep. Time to hit the floor and move my body.
All good? See you tomorrow?
Cool.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 