sunday night.

soup's on the stove. need to go put it away. white bean-potato-kale. hearty vegetable soups for a rainy day, and when the sun comes out tomorrow i'll wonder why i made it. i told the roommate she could cook up sausages and put them in some of the soup.

you need a writing area she says today. like, in your room. i always want you to have one

what? i say. "you mean, so i don't write on the sofa or in my bed?

yeah she says. like in the corner of your room

our house, you see, is very small, although we did have twenty people in the kitchen once.

writing nook, we'll see. right now i'm clearing out space because a clean room feels like a promise in the same way a clean kitchen feels like a possibility.

my coworker we just hired three weeks ago gave her notice last week, which means someone else to train, someone else to impart the particular minutae that only really comes with experience, and looking (no, you see, it's different, this is just right, this is too thin)...and in the meantime, the one who is leaving does a sloppy job of cleaning, which is to be expected.

i'm putting away the soup.

i'm going to bed early.

today i ate malted vanilla ice cream.