It's starting to smell more like winter than fall outside here. I've wanted to write all day about my stupid feelings---or anything, really, funny stories, poems about the trees or about the quality of the fucking light, but now it all seems very unimportant and even indulgent.
I talked to my mom for some time tonight. I kept thinking I had some big news to tell her, but I didn't really, although it felt like it had been a long time since we spoke and that a lot had changed in the time in between. Just as I was getting ready to hang up, she brought up something that sounded very serious. I think she might've phrased it like "I've got to talk to you about something important."
I had this feeling like I was in big trouble, that little thrill of leftover horror I get when most people use my full name. I steeled myself for whatever it was, but in the end, she just very earnestly asked me about this set of nice pans she wanted to buy for herself that were on sale but oh how very terrible she felt about it, since she thought she shouldn't be spending the money, and certainly not on herself, and all of this and that. I assured her that she very much deserved all of the pans and of the things she could be agonizing over splurging on, that was a very practical thing. It was very charming and left me with that kind of keen affection for her that kind of hurts a little, and I don't know.
I'm so tired but I keep staying up like I'm waiting on some important news, and maybe I am.
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