The Receipt Was Right the First Time

August nineteenth. I checked it twice because I didn't believe it the first time. That's the honest start of this.

I went to the grocery store yesterday with a number in my head, the number I usually spend when I'm being careful, which is different from the number I spend when I'm not paying attention, which is different again from the number I spend when I walk in hungry. Yesterday I was careful and I was not hungry and there were two manager's special stickers on things I would have bought anyway, a bunch of basil that was not imperfect in any way I could identify, and a lemon that had a small soft spot on one end that I cut off before I'd even put my bag down. The register printed the total and I looked at it and put the receipt in my pocket and walked home.

the receipt, the lemon, the small win

In the kitchen I took the receipt out and looked at it again. I do this. Not from anxiety exactly, more the way you look at a thing you made to see if it holds. The number held. I set the basil in a glass of water on the counter the way Simone showed me last year, which keeps it alive for almost a week if you change the water, and I put the lemon on the windowsill next to the macramé cord because there was room and because the color was right. Gerald's new vine has reached the shelf above the stove again. I noted that too.

checking it twice

I know this is not an interesting story in the way that stories are supposed to be interesting. But I think there's something in the specific satisfaction of a number that comes out smaller than you braced for, not because you denied yourself anything, but because you paid attention. The paper number I've kept since 2011 is still in the kitchen drawer. I haven't needed to look at it in a while. That's the part that feels like the actual win.