Meet the day with dignity. 

I couldn’t sleep last night. I was woken up by a surge of police sirens around 4am and thought, It’s starting. I looked at my weather app for when the sunrise would be, got up, and drew the blinds. The sun was a gorgeous lurid orange. It painted my whole front orange, and I just stood there thinking how big the sun is, and how small that man is, and how he’ll never be free from the torture of his own mind.

I decided: I will meet this day with dignity. I just took a hot shower, lathering up with Irish Spring shower gel, because I forgot my soap and that’s what my sweetie uses. I wrapped myself in a plush towel. I’m sitting on the futon right now, typing out this post on my phone; when my sweetie wakes up, he’ll do his morning prayers and I’ll write my morning pages, and we’ll have breakfast and coffee. And then I’ll do whatever next task seems right. I may get some work done. Or I may wander in the city, and breathe the air I know is free, no matter what anyone tells me.

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