1. He goes in late on Wednesdays. We sit with coffee. It’s a few minutes stolen from the workweek, from the sensation of ships passing in the night. For a little while, we feel normal.
  2. And then she cries.
  3. I rock her as best I can, her arms around my neck, her steady-rising chest on mine, her knees in my hips, her toes stretching the length of my thighs. How did she get so big?
  4. He forgot the trash.
  5. It’s not possible that the bank’s math and my math are both right. This is my fault I can’t be trusted what are we going to do. I pray it down. It rises again. I pray it down. My fear cannot outlast my God.
  6. I push hard at the gym, forcing unwanted emotions through trembling muscles and out of pores, careful to draw the line between exorcism and punishment.
  7. I say things in posts I can’t say to the faces of people I love even though I know they’ll read them and ask with hurt eyes why I didn’t say anything. It’s just better this way. Cleaner. Clearer.
  8. Hand, foot, and mouth disease.
  9. She breaks the ceramic marker pot on her foot as I’m trying to make an appointment with the counselor to deal with the stress of caregiving. I have to hang up. She calls back five minutes later. She understands.
  10. Noodles may not cure everything, but they sure go a long way in the right direction.

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