Here. There. Where’s the smoked paprika?
The past two weeks have been a blur. The studios and our lives were packed up and moved a bit further south for the next few months. Within days of unpacking, we began to remember the forgotten things. I should have made a list.
A few weeks ago, I read a blog post about a book of six word memoirs. It really struck a chord. Six words, how hard could that be? The answer surprised me. My thoughts, it turns out are more often five words, or seven. They rarely fit into six. I thought it would be a fun way to keep an abbreviated journal. Like blog posts, my best are written in my imagination while taking a shower, or in the twilight of my dreams. By the time I remember to write them down, only the essence remains.
Here are a few that managed to be caught.
We left our hill. Into traffic.
Welcome back. Dead mice in toilet.
I sense them quietly watching me.
To admit broken, would mean defeated.
Here, there. Where’s the smoked paprika?
trip to the beach, adjusting expectations