Thunder

It's Wednesday. In Boston, thunderstorms seem to know when you need them most. Outside my apartment there is rain hitting the pavement - it sounds like a whole ocean trying to wash things away. I'm convinced the sky is trying to rip itself in half. I think of how similar we are, me & the sky. I don't know these days which one holds more water, but I don't think it matters. This isn't cold...

Sunday

Sunday. My alarm goes off. Its mechanic mouth more jarring here, in the forest, than in the city. I can feel my running shoes rattling downstairs so I set tea to the stove and busy myself with getting ready. 16 miles - my last long run before my ultramarathon next weekend. The run was as conventional as long runs go. Sweat, water, trees, a wrong turn here & there, and the sound of feet...

Water

Im folding laundry in my tiny studio apartment - we call it the closet. Billie Holiday & Louis Armstrong are wrapping themselves in every piece of clothing. I hope that tomorrow when I wake up I will feel the jazz stitched inside my t-shirts. Quincy is in the kitchen stripping kale. It's midweek and I can already feel the stress of the workplace creeping into my neck. The smell of hot oil...