Bruise & Throes

Today was one where the earth gives up the ghost. Wak­ing with aching bones. Thaw fog heavy in the after­noon. This used to be an ear­ly spring thing of rar­i­ty, but cli­mate change may mean many a win­ter now. I took myself to Le Petit Tri­an­gle for lunch, a cas­soulet kind of day. A hunk of roast duck, white beans and white pep­per, cool­ing coffee. 

Last night I went to hear some poet­ry and had a “Mediter­ranean Bowl” which end­ed up being a $13 hum­mus tub with detri­tus scat­tered atop. 3 Old Fash­ioneds & tex­ting increas­ing­ly tor­tured and crass puns about the name of the event with Lit­tle Sis­ter sal­vaged the evening. 

Tonight required more del­i­ca­cy. I’d say the hard­est part of being a sin­gle par­ent is not hav­ing anoth­er adult around to run inter­fer­ence. Cook­ing din­ner while try­ing to help & encour­age my kid to do some hat­ed home­work and not stress him out and not get stressed out myself. We’re both try­ing to do bet­ter. When we get in that same team groove, I swear we could con­quer the god­damn world in an after­noon if we decid­ed that would be fun. At odds though, and we’ll burn the whole thing down just to out-stub­born each oth­er. The Cru­cial Con­ver­sa­tions train­ing I had a few years ago is so help­ful here. It’s def­i­nite­ly helped me approx­i­mate human­i­ty with greater accuracy.