Fear

I Wanted This Date to Mean Something

The fear post is up. The first month is done. Thirty days in and nothing is resolved, which turns out to be its own kind of information.

I wrote three paragraphs yesterday for the stranger's sister. This morning I tried to read them as someone who hadn't lived the last four weeks.

Four weeks in, two days until the end of month one, and I finally figured out who I'm writing the fear post for.

A stranger asked if I'd written about the fear of the first month. I'm twenty-four days in and I still can't write it. But I'm going to try anyway.

I sent the email. Now there are three more names. I'm starting to understand why I sent the one I did.

I said Monday three times. Today was the third one.

I spent Saturday morning writing an email I did not send. The subject line is where I found out what I have actually been avoiding.

I watched a meeting room defer to me instead of someone smarter. I still cannot tell how much of my authority belongs to me.

I have legal clearance, a backward map, and a list of six names. I have not made a single call.

November 14 felt like a long time away until I started from November and worked the other way.

Sunday night I told Doug everything. Except the one specific thing that would make it real.