I’m at the library, looking out over foggy Fayetteville. It’s September. I love September. It smells so good this time of year. I’ve picked my favorite desk here at this window, and like all the libraries I’ve ever entered, I’ll pace around until I get to sit here. If I’m forced, I’ll sit somewhere else, but I’ll have to face the same direction, and I’ll stare at whoever picks my seat.

Should I carve my name? I’ve got a good pencil.

I love this quiet. I forgot. Someone has an oxygen machine near to me, and I kick my crossed leg with every force of air. The coffee is high in me, and I feel it in my ears. I can hear my heart beating. 

I’m going to write again. Really write. I’m going to be private and quiet, and I’m going to waste on writing all the good time I have to clean my house. I’m going to waste it at a desk alone, and I’ll make things up and I’ll remember things, and I’ll be blessed and aim to please God in it.

I think I’ll take a blog sabbatical. I’m not sure for how long. Isaac started pre-school today, so happy and big with a backpack. My amazing college girls come tonight, every Tuesday night, spirit-hungry and wanting cookies. A marriage class starts next Wednesday, and I strangely dread it, but expect it to be positive, nonetheless. I have a book club that makes me feel like champagne. I’m going to follow through with what I know I’m to do, and I want to cut myself now from expectations I’ve made for myself here, though I may write something long and blog-worthy in just a few days. I don’t know.

Thank you for being my friend.