The Fourth Draft Was the Last One

It went up at nine-seventeen. I checked the timestamp after. I don't know why I checked the timestamp.

I've been working on this particular piece since, honestly I'm not sure. There are four versions of it saved in a folder I named something boring so I wouldn't think about it too much. The fourth one is the one I almost deleted twice. The fourth one is the one that's on the page now, with her name in it. My mother's name. Ruth. That's the first time I've written that here and I want to leave it sitting right there for a second before I say anything else around it.

I didn't edit it tonight. I know I said I wasn't going to but I did open it, and then I made myself stop reading for improvement and start reading for done. There's a difference. Reading for improvement means you're still protecting yourself from publishing it. Reading for done means you're just checking that it says the true thing, and it did, so I hit publish and closed the laptop before I could change my mind.

sitting with it.

Now it's nine-forty something and I'm on the couch with the lamp on across the room and I don't feel dramatic about it. I thought I would. I feel a little like I set something down that I'd been carrying in a way I'd stopped noticing, the way you stop noticing the weight of a bag until it's off your shoulder. It's out there. She's on the page. That's enough for tonight.