My mother is praying the rosary in the kitchen with one working light. She is sitting at the table with one remaining chair. She is part of the family with two dysfunctioning members.
Linda Brown has only spoken a few words to me since she came home. First and briskly "Were there any messages?" Second and sweetly "Is that Diet Pepsi in the fridge for me?"
No no no no no.
Now she is working her mouth around words that have inspired, driven, helped countless for years. Linda Brown does not pray silently when in the comfort of her own home. She is loud, it's impossible not to get drawn into the rhythmic ups and downs of her pleas.
Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond is playing on my radio. I like this song a lot.

Sweet Caroline
Good times never felt so good
Sweet Caroline
I believed they never could
*

In the car today I closed my eyes and let the sun make impressions of gold, brown, orange, and red on my eyelids.
When giving Phil a walking tour of Foodtown this afternoon, I allowed some nostalgia to touch my voice and curve my mouth.
Out last night, I tried to feel comfortable, but wasn't too disappointed that I didn't.
*

I am moving along a highway and behind me is All of This. In front of me are experiences that will make All of This even harder to deal with when I come back, but I still want them.

Mal/Discontent
*

I think I will start training to run a 26 mile because I feel like working towards a lofty goal.
*

Great writers must have produced amazing work when dealing with complicated circumstances, times of depression, periods of forced/deep self-reflection. But I can only look vacantly at blurry_car-window_scenery, television sets (whether on or off), or computer screens. Like when you are punched in the stomach and left sucking for air