August 30, 2024

Journal of the month before I took my last kid to college

College countdown: my Advent calendar of doom

I’m trying to slow down time but he goes at double speed.

I’m excited to burst out and be my great, true self.

What he leaves and all I do is scroll?

Maybe be I’ll fulfill all my gluten dreams.

Maybe I’ll be thin (a prayer)

My summer-birthday kid says he’s too old for ice-cream cakes.

Headache like daggers

II don’t want sadness, I want colors.

This is the color of me skipping the gym.

I don’t tell Z about the suicide at our T stop.

I tell him to register! A vote means more in NC than in MA.

I hiding from arguments in my pictures.

I thought I’d be so free but I’m so stuck.

Hey! I have an idea! I can worry that my colors don’t match.

Maybe I’ll rearrange my plates. And buy more. Every day.

Why am I drawing? I should be writing.

I need a hot bath. Quack.

I need a more expensive gym.

Gen Z loves LinkedIn. I’m embarrassed for them.

I bought a volleyball: I never lose hope.

I bought a volleyall: I never lose hope.

I drew a plate so I wouldn’t buy one.

Maybe I want to go back to being alone.

I’m wearing shirts he says he’s leaving behind.

To ease my transition, I start treating the Indiana Fever like family.

The last grocery run. The last Shabbat. The last day reading on the sofa.

I look forward to nights when Nino comes over way too much.

Can we be a team for just one day? Drop-off’s too lonely to also be divorced.

Is Target’s whole business model college move-in day?

Last-minute impulse-buy. Low-grade self-pity mistaken for a college necessity.

Z is the car-trip DJ leaving notes in empty spaces.

He turns to the big, Gothic campus and he’s gone.

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