It’s 5:18am but I get up anyway because it’s easier to start my day tired than it is to toss and turn in bed with only anxious thoughts as company. (No, wait, Thomas is also here…but he’s fast asleep and has been working so hard the last thing I want to do is wake him…)

It’s a quiet morning. The sun hasn’t yet risen but who knows if it will today. Fog and smoke and dwindling hope.


And music. Ben Howard, I think. That sounds about right.

Oh man. I dream of the days where I could cry to live music in public and not just from my couch. Imagine! And now, living less than a mile from the Greek Theatre…my heart aches.

For some reason I think of lavender and how much I love its color. I take out my pastels (ugh, I don’t have the right shades of purple!) and try to create whatever small thing I can.

It feels good to create. Rather than destroy.

Maybe one day I’ll know what I’m doing. Or maybe one day I won’t care that I don’t know what I’m doing.

One day when I have my own garden I’ll plant some lavender. Better yet – I’ll grow a whole field of lavender so that when you look out from my kitchen window all you see is a purple haze that stretches for miles and when you open the door the aroma hits you so strongly you have no choice but to feel free.



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