Thirty-One: Weeks Thirteen & Fourteen

Days eighty-five through ninety-eight

Photo by Erik Brolin on Unsplash

Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. I’m late again, which tends to happen at the end of my medication cycle. I’ll dig into that in a short post next week detailing my thoughts on the first hundred days of this project. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them by clicking here.

Day Eighty-Five (July 20th)
When thoughts appear, they’re limitless. The only thing standing in their way is doubt. 

Day Eighty-Six (July 21st)
The lazy drawl of a slide guitar feels like summer. Everything melts into everything else. 

Day Eighty-Seven (July 22nd)
My eyes are open, but somewhere along the synapses, I lose the visual. Instead, I stare into space, universes unfolding inside my head. 

Day Eighty-Eight (July 23rd)
All the critters come out when it rains. The same baby gecko has appeared on the garbage bin the past few nights I’ve taken the cat litter out. It startles when it sees me, but then it settles. We observe each other. 

Day Eighty-Nine (July 24th)
The scent of rain is different in the heat. It lingers like the sheen of oil on freshly doused asphalt. It blends with the feeling of humidity in your throat. It leaves you wishing for more of a reprieve. 

Day Ninety (July 25th)
The most vivid sunsets only exist because of the clouds. 

Day Ninety-One (July 26th)
Usually, thunder grumbles in slowly, knocking methodically as the storm clouds drape the sky in darkness. Sometimes, though, it cracks overhead without warning. The unexpected blast is a jarring slap in the face. When a storm cackles like that, don’t be surprised if dishwater goes flying when you jump out of your skin.

Day Ninety-Two (July 27th)
Feet sore from standing. Heart full from helping. 

Day Ninety-Three (July 28th)
Mushroom caps splitting like petals unfurling—a different kind of flower blooms. Creamy white and understated brown blend into the earth in a muted celebration of the mundane. 

Day Ninety-Four (July 29th)
Let yourself be engulfed by all the things you’re running from. 

Day Ninety-Five (July 30th)
Sometimes the only identity I have is Exhausted Swamp Monster. At least the water is cool.

Day Ninety-Six (July 31st)
Tears for fears is an acceptable exchange—it’s also a great band from the 80s.

Day Ninety-Seven (August 1st)
Broken blood vessels dot my bruised finger like the Milky Way spreading out against the night sky. 

Day Ninety-Eight (August 2nd)
What must it be like to exist as a storm cloud? You bring darkness with you everywhere you go. You are darkness. But you carry life within you, a constant cycle of catch and release. You exist quietly until the crush of the storm explodes from you, and then you disappear. 

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