Pasta, Probably Tuesday

The week had a shape to it that I only noticed at the end. Groceries. A long phone call I kept meaning to return. I bought three types of pasta again, I do this, apparently, it's a thing I do, and used one of them and put the other two in the cabinet where they will live forever next to the lentils I also never use. I ran Monday morning. Made dinner. Sent emails that had been sitting in drafts since last week. Watched something on TV that I couldn't tell you the name of now.

March is doing that thing where it almost convinces you it's actually spring and then takes it back by four in the afternoon. The light on the windowsill in the morning is genuinely good right now though, Gerald is doing something new with his leaves, unfurling one at the top that is this very specific pale yellow-green, the color of a thing that hasn't decided yet. The bowl is still there next to him. I keep meaning to move it and then not moving it. I think it lives there now.

Gerald. The bowl. The usual suspects.

I had pasta on the couch and thought about sending Nadia a voice memo and then just sent a regular text instead, which she responded to four hours later with three words and a period, which is just her, that's just how she texts. Nothing happened this week. I mean things happened, obviously. But none of it was heavy, and I'm writing that down on purpose because I forget to notice when nothing is heavy. That counts. I'm counting it.

Pasta on a Monday or a Thursday, honestly couldn't tell you.