Screen

Move from small digital square to medium digital square, pull the curtains when the sun gets too bright but catch yourself, nothing is more important and spend a moment staring straight into its light: this is the gift. Move to larger squareto stretch your muscles, rest your brain, return to medium sized square and write some more, it is neverending and I haven't left my house in days. You are putting in the time. It feels right. Long for deep breaths along the river, squeeze them into your planner, force the other things out. Make room. Your mother sends you apartment listings, we were always suckers for a good move, restless, rootless the lot of us, always itching to go, delighting in the unopened doors, the unmapped terrain. Today I read a passage about the American West that nearly knocked the breath from me, I wrote five post-its in the blink of an eye reminding me the passages I have yet to tell. Nature will do that, even when you only just imagine it. 

I did take a break from the squares, though, I didn't forget. I opened an old book and let myself get lost for a moment, and do you know time moves slower inside a book, somehow. You are allowed a wider reprieve. When you come out, you can feel it. 

She asks if I would drive her dog 2,000 miles into the desert. Says she wants the dog there when they elope. I scratch my tingling skin. 

Try to pretend I wouldn't consider.