What I Didn't Take a Picture Of

June sixth. It happened again. I made something new for breakfast, not the stock, not anything Simone-adjacent, just a thing I had not made before, a savory situation involving eggs and something left over from Tuesday that I was not sure would work and then it did, and I stood at the counter eating it straight from the pan, and at no point did I pick up my phone.

I noticed the not-reaching. That's the part that's new. The first time, back in May, I wrote about it a little, the Sunday morning, the apartment quiet, the thing I made that didn't get documented. I thought it was a one-off. A fluke of being tired, or just not having the angle. But it happened again, and this time I was awake enough to watch myself not do it. My hand didn't move. I wasn't even tempted, really. I just ate the eggs and looked out the window and that was the whole event.

the between-moment, reaching for water, cloth in hand, nothing staged

I've been thinking about what Simone said about the open studio, that she doesn't know if the clay is the point or if she just likes the quiet. I keep turning that over because I think there's a version of that question that applies here. I don't know if the cooking is the point or if I just like the part where nothing is being performed. Maybe not photographing something is its own practice. Maybe the standing order has a quiet clause I didn't write in on purpose but that's been there for a while.

the windowsill, the five things, and standing still for a minute

The windowsill still has its five things. Gerald is doing whatever Gerald does. The pan is washed. Nothing to show for it, which turns out to be the whole point.