Meatball Sandwiches

For my part, there is a warm smell in most of the house and the children gently play with tiny animals and put tiny animal things in the houseplants and creep around speaking lightly with voices almost whispering. The cat howls, never satisfied with the food or going out or coming in.

Today I attended a seminar in what education in the Dominican Tradition means. I have a cold in the hot heat and my chest feels weighted. I'm tired and Don Quixote seems to call out to me, like a whiny telepathic, to follow him and his squire through the beginning. Sassy Cervantes. I plumb the dregs and think of the sonnets I might set as a prologue to whatever it is that will mark me in history as something more than future soil. That's cheerful.
I have been sleeping poorly, something wedged in my sleep making my dreams bright and painful and sequential in a way that only makes sense while I am still half asleep. This morning I was making some excuse about this ancient bowl crumbling in my hand and putting shards of clay into the salsa I had made and was serving to friends who looked with strange compassion on me as I set down the dish on a watery table. In real life the phone was ringing and ringing. I feel so tired and my eyes are burning from the residual onion vapor hanging in the air.

What's more...That's the same as always. Another Wednesday.