I dipped a tanned finger into the jar of honey that’s been sitting on my beside for half a year.

I’m rolling a bright red lacrosse ball between my feet as I look through my substitute teaching paychecks.

I started work at 8am and finished around 9:30pm. A small hour break in between as I traveled between field and school.

I’ve got two vocations and a job. Writing, coaching, and substitute teaching.

I’m currently sat on the tri-color blend carpet my parents installed upstairs a couple years ago. As the beat of the song plays in the background I wonder how it’ll be to live in a shared house in Portland that isn’t my parents or the condo.

I’ve given myself a year to see how this goes— the adventure that I’m already plans to pivot out of. To venture in new directions as the veil lifts from my eyes.

I’m shaking out the small, black rubber pellets from my shoes.

Tomorrow is Thursday- my last coaching day before the solitary day of rest (which Friday’s should never be).

I’ve been buying books like a madmen as I’m reminded of the beauty of public libraries. The scent of evening jasmine has flown through the air. The off-leash dogs have lunged— finding cloth where flesh might be. Unscathed, I venture forward—