Saturday I didn't make a plan.
That was how I knew something had shifted. No list. No structure borrowed from the workweek to give the weekend shape. I woke up and lay there and the ceiling didn't tell me anything useful.
The Friday reflex kept coming back. The inch of chair. My shoulders going up before I'd thought anything. His voice saying you're okay like it was a compass point he was lending me.
I'd spent the evening trying to put it back in the drawer where I kept things that didn't have categories yet. It kept climbing out.
By ten I'd had two coffees and read the same paragraph of the same document four times. By eleven I gave up on the document.
By noon I was just sitting. Not resting. Just stopped.
He texted at half twelve.
You eaten?
Two words. Not are you alright, not ch
