Sent

I sent an email and then I stared at the screen like an idiot.

Not because I think I changed sports. Because I would like it to arrive. School inboxes eat things. August eats things. I am not above refreshing sent mail. I am exactly as above as a person who just pressed a button.

Password. Private room. One guy. If he opens it, cool. If he does not, I still spent a Sunday drawing a hornet.

The Sunday was not only the hornet. It was the website too. Tiny things. A title. A word sitting in the wrong box. The kind of work nobody claps for and everybody feels if you skip it. Then I cleaned the house. Then I made mate. Then I looked at the sent folder again, which is not a personality. It is a hobby.

This is the normal life of somebody trying to show their things to the world. It is not a movie. It is a mop, a thermos, a laptop that will not clap, and a hornet in a locked room.

Pretty good Sunday, honestly.