“we are on the verge of something.” By Sasha at the table

Tuesday, May 12, 2020
1:48pm
5 minutes
When Things Fall Apart
Pema Chödrön

Four olive pits on a plate painted with roses, a crack on one corner. Fifty three days since I’ve been home. Six green peas on the high chair tray, leftover from lunch. One tea bag in the bottom of the blue and white mug. Hundreds of ants chewing through the wood that keeps us warm and dry. Three drops of poison spread across the beam in the living room, the kitchen counter corner. One pandemic. One water bottle emptied and filled, emptied and filled. One nub of red candle. One small chipmunk on the deck railing, watching me write. Eleven seconds left on the timer. Two eyes, blinking.

“No need to hurry” by Julia on her couch


Saturday, July 18, 2015
2:12am
5 minutes
From an email

Hi there’s something I’d like to say to you and I’m going to try to get it all out without freaking myself out into not saying it. So. Okay. Good mother of Christ. Okay.

I am not in love with you anymore. I do not like the way you chew with your mouth open. I shouldn’t have said I am not in love with you.
That was too far.
I love you and I am in love with you but I do not like some of your quirks the way I once did. The last time we spoke I watched myself tolerate you. I hate that I’ve just used that word. Oh Lord, I’m struggling with being direct with you. I’m worried that you will not be able to take my criticisms without hating yourself. For the record I do not hate you nor could I. What am I trying to say? I have to hurry so I don’t give up on telling you and I have to tell you because if I don’t then I’m afraid I just might. Might start to hate you, I mean. Not that I ever could. So the chewing. That’s a problem. The soup slurping. That’s probably a bigger one. Anything to do with how you eat, really: The way you crack pistachio shells, remove olive pits from your mouth, swallow full sunflower seeds including the shell…