Dragging words out of my body feels like squeezing water out of granite. The past few days have been spent in and out of the hospital waiting rooms as— predictably, considering my family— my mother deals with complications on her appendectomy. Is this what traveling is like, meeting new people all the time, making conversation with strangers, experiencing new wonders and spending a lot of time on a bench waiting for something?
My solution to this problem has thus far been homemade popsicles and waffles, as well as a good dose of family love and putting together a puzzle of two goldfinches. My writing energy is sapped. I just want it to be over.
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