Stick Sculpture

The pothos I've had for years are dying, it's too late to save them.

I'm in love with the tree outside my window, especially during mornings. I wake up at 7 to take the dog out, but I have a moment with the tree first. At 7, sun hits sharply at just half of it, illuminating the bright yellow leaves at the top that have weathered the fall season—the bottom half is still bright green. The first time I saw its color split was so beautiful that it shocked me awake. It was one of those things you look at in disbelief. 

Joey said something about immersive healing on his chart yesterday and now I'm adopting it. 

I want to explain to my friends how much they mean to me without using words. A performance could be funny and charming. But then again, it could go terribly wrong.

There will always be intensity in fighting. I wonder if there is intensity in an act of kindness.

Emma dreamt we were sitting together and I just kept looking at her. She was looking at me and I said, "It's ok." She was looking at me with a worried face and I said, "It's ok, Emmy." I woke up to that message.

I wanted to set up a projector outside and lay in the grass while we watched In the Mood for Love. 

If I go to a forest this weekend, I'd like to build a stick sculpture.