Emma with her little baseball injury, fly ball landing on the bridge of her nose.  One stitch. 

She was impressively brave, crying in the ER room for the one stitch more from the doctor saying she should sit out today than the needle the doc used to numb her nose.  She’s in the kitchen with me now, at the counter/228 bar, watching one of her shows, orange juice and waffles.  Her definition of perception morning-wise, her singular intention.  I love her, admire her, will do anything over anything and ANYTHING for her, always.

Henry’s waffles are ready.  Just as I notice emotion surfacing over something.  I make it stop by definitively ignoring the emotion.  Relationships and if I’m meant to have one.  “Meant”…. Nothing I can do if there is some outside intention power over me, and how would I know.  Not going to stop living.. making more a project of this condo, writing all steps.  From keeping it clean to laundry, to decorating and arranging with minimalist spirit.  The relationship is with ME, my story, work.  

That one I can control, I think.

09:06…. New conversation.  Not getting hopeful, just see where it goes.