At daybreak, all the birds have black feathers.

I wake from a nightmare into a nightmare. The first is personal. The second is global.

I want to put giant googly eyes on my refrigerator.

What do we see in each other? Ourselves.

You can’t blindly promise people hope. You need to give them reasons to have hope.

The Delusional States of America.

Lately, my Fitbit seems more like a Zoltar fortune-telling machine than a legitimate fitness and activity tracker. It says I’m sleeping soundly when I’m awake and swimming when I’m sitting at my computer and that I’m always ready to do things, which clearly I am not, ever.

Am I in a bad mood? No. I’m in all the bad moods.

I woke up in the middle of the night after having a vivid dream. You know what got me back to sleep? Looking at my beautiful Trello boards.

My dog just wrapped herself up in the arms of her stuffed octopus and fell asleep.

Pliny the Elder threw salamanders into a fire to see if they could really extinguish flames. I love myths, but this is what happens when we extend them too far and take them literally. Don’t throw our democracy on the fire like a doomed salamander because your stories about the world have ossified into brittle truths.

Our HOA hired a landscape-maintenance crew to blow dirt away from dirt and onto other dirt.

I dreamed my internal organs were salamanders.

I have so many things to do, but my dog is sleeping on my lap.

Here’s how much I love organizing my Trello boards: If I were at the Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference (AWP) right now, I’d be sad that I wasn’t at home organizing my Trello boards.

In my 20s, I worried I’d be bored all my life. In my 50s, I’m delighted when I get to wear my favorite underwear to bed.

I took another nap with Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. Apparently, I’m no longer a person who can read while lying down.

I wake with so many wrinkles in my décolleté that I could use it to grate carrots.

I learned a lot about mindfulness from my hamster, Tater McGee. She would sit up on her back legs for hours with her front paws hanging loosely in front as she stared into a distance far beyond her cage, the room we shared, our home. I swear she was looking into eternity or whatever approaches or approximates eternity. Can a hamster be enlightened? I think so.

La-Z-Boy is getting dangerously close to designing a chair that you’re born in, live in, eat in, shit in, fuck in, die in, and are buried in.

Spring is two gila woodpeckers who blare like stuttering car horns from still-dormant trees. It’s the body that doesn’t want to wake or move or walk into spring or at least onto the patio, which is where spring wafts in through the screen. It’s the body moving anyway into the garish light, into what opens and what will open. Spring is remembering the first snow in Oklahoma that was heavy enough for making snowmen. Spring is remembering snow in spring.

The vultures and the storm arrive together. Below, the dead, waiting. Below, the dry land, waiting. Famine, feast. Drought, water. A blue tractor pushes a single bale of hay across the pasture just before the rain begins to fall.

Time to eat a whole thing of dark chocolate dessert hummus.

I misread thoughtful as thoughful and imagine a sea of qualifiers, of despites, of even ifs flowing like blocky lava into my field of vision until I can’t see anything but the letters t-h-o-u-g-h piled on top of each other, shifting, creating friction, even though I know that’s preposterous, even though it’s not what the writer meant, even though my brain is trying to write itself, even though I want to come back to the actual sentence and stop all this lava, all this flow, all this heat, all this darkness, all this uncertainty, even though.

I avoid places that have too many people and not enough birds.

Cue lighthearted meme from 2020: I had a lot of things to do today, but you know what I did instead? I DIDN’T TAKE A NAP. IT WASN’T A VERY NICE NAP BECAUSE I DIDN’T TAKE A NAP. I DIDN’T GET ANYTHING DONE AND I ALSO DIDN’T TAKE A NAP. 03.12 You turn the object into a woman and the woman into an object.

I call this sleep position someone threw me out of a small plane and this is how I landed on my mattress and nothing is broken thanks for asking but I can I get a couple of Tylenol.

I hated the wind when I couldn’t escape the wind. Now the wind is gone. I miss the wind. I love the wind.

Did you hear? Love has been transformed into a supersolid. It’s light, actually, but I misread the headline as love.

Facebook, how would I watch two rescued prairie dogs eat grape tomatoes without you?

My neighbor has two big red onions, a can of soup, and a straw hat on top of his dashboard.

You turn the object into a woman and the woman into an object.

With my eyes, I have tasted the world’s first ambers.

I don’t like to eat my cookies when anyone’s in the room with me. I like to eat them alone.

Once, my house was almost a library. Then, I donated all my books and started going to the library. Now, I want my house to be a library. Also, I want to keep going to the library.

Without horse how can you imagine running like a horse? Without shadow how you can imagine falling like a shadow? And so forth and so forth until you’ve named all the things you can name because they exist and you exist through them and as them though you are not them even if you are a little them. Without horse give yourself a name. Without shadow give yourself a name. What do you fall on, darken? What do you run with and on, and to and why? Why do you run I mean? Why do you run? Toward or away.

I love the way branch shadows fall across the body of a wild horse, making the tree part horse and the horse part tree. And, somehow, making me at least part love that brambles the world or is brambled by it or both, back and forth, for as long as there are horses and trees and trees and horses so I can imagine myself in those terms.

𝐶𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑙𝑢𝑚 𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑚𝑛𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠. That’s terrible Latin for “My cookies as a whole are divided into three parts,” a play on Caesar’s quote 𝐺𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎 𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑚𝑛𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠. What I mean is, I’m eating no-bake cookies for the next three days. Technically, I started a little early by having some yesterday evening, but the three-day undertaking officially starts today. Yesterday was kind of a pre-event event like the ones literary conferences have.

I have some spines for sale if anyone needs one. They make great gifts.

I dreamed I was invited to a party and was all like, “Wait. Let me get my infographics!”

I dreamed I was the handle on a mug.

In the “Oh Look a Strawberry” meme, the United States is currently the fourth strawberry. We’ll be lucky if we can get back to being the third strawberry at this point. First strawberry? Forget it. Second? A long shot.

We do not want this on their tongues any more than we want it in their hearts.

Fill my bones with henbane seeds.

I dreamed I was lying in bed dreaming that I was lying in bed dreaming that I was lying in bed dreaming. This went on and on until I woke up. Somewhere, I am still dreaming this nested dream of dreaming.

I dreamed my pillows were clouds, and they ate me, but in a good way.

He’s the demon Mara. Time to touch the Earth.

I would go all the way straight for Zelensky. This is not the time to say that, but I’m saying it. (Jon knows. It’s fine. He has Olivia Munn.)

Zelensky’s not the one in that room who’s unsuited.