Summer Vacay

6/5: L. tells me that, when G. got sick in the night, the first thing she thought when she went in his room and smelled that smell was, 'Demons.'
6/6: The cottonwood trees are so heavy in some places, they look a little obscene. Like they are shedding. Or wearing boas. No longer the dainty puffs floating through the air; now the stuff falls in clumps. The trees, embarrassed as adolescents.
6/7: The weeds have taken over.
6/8: I live in the wrong part of town.
6/9: G. watches Barney while I read portfolios. I turn the volume way down. He turns it back up.
6/10: The plastic pig, on her side, submerged in rainwater.
6/11: When I return to the interurban rotary trailhead, one other car is parked in the lot. An older man sits inside, highlighting a book. His back seat is filled with cardboard boxes.
6/12: There are bees in my chimney, and the sound, filtered down, is ghostly.

Week Ten Prequel

*I'm posting this early, since we're finishing up this week. Your last required observation is Thursday, 6/4.

5/30: Luis Urrea says no one lives in cardboard boxes anymore. Uh oh.
5/31: I call home, but the line is busy. I'm perplexed; I try again. Still busy. So then I call L.'s cell phone, and when she answers, I say, "Why is our phone line busy?" She says, "Because I'm on the phone." I say, "Oh," then hang up, forgetting why I've called.
6/1: At the lab, there's a white board on the door with the title Random Facts. Today's random fact is that shark fetuses fight each other in the womb, and the one who wins is the one who gets born. I don't know if this fact is true, but I can't stop staring at the sign while the nurse inserts the needle. I'm thinking, Shark fetuses? Really?
6/2: It's eighty degrees, and I'm overdressed.
6/3: My dreams are like watching TV shows these days.
6/4: Cottonwood seeds out the spider webs.