Laundry tub. Giving Blueberry a bath in the laundry tub. He looks like a little rat. A dejected rat. He doesn't like a bath but he's so soft and fluffy afterward.
I've got a sinking feeling. Always sinking below water. Water rising. Flooding. Drowning. I do the laundry when the laundry basket is full. Jim wears the same thing over and over. I'm picking up that habit. I wish I could fly. In the sky. Above all the smoke and wars and floods and be so high up there that I can't see any of it and my phone wont ding because cell signals don't go that high. Not even the lined up satellites that look like an alien invasion.
It's time to sleep. To sink into slumber wrapped in a blanket and feeling cozy and warm and protected. Decorative gourd season is here, motherfucker, and I'm excited to wear sweaters and boots again. To hang out at bonfires. Drink hot drinks. Winter is around the corner but I won't think about that yet. It's time to plan a getaway for January next year. Do it now so future Michelle won't get mad at past Michelle.