Summers is the worst. Now, trust me on this, I'm no teacher's pet. I like school as much as the next kid, but I prefer the school months to the summer ones. I live way off the beaten path as ma calls it. My bus ride into school takes over an hour, though I've never timed the trip. I'm sure you can see where I'm leading. Nobody's parent wants to drag their kid an hour out of town down a dirt road that's made of more potholes than gravel. And neither ma, nor dad are going to drive us. It means me and my brothers are alone for two months.

Alone, however, doesn't just imply boredom. I'm sure my brothers and I could entertain ourselves alright. But dad has other ideas. It's the job of us kids to keep up after the chickens and drag the goat back to the homestead after he gets out for the third time this week. We've got weeding, watering, pruning, and harvesting to do. The tractor quit two years ago, so even in the spring, when we used to be free, we were up early and up late trying to plant all the produce.

Ma couldn't even help this year because of the new baby. She was off her feet for weeks. Dad was more upset than I thought it was alright for him to be. Ma's absence meant extra work for all of us. Dad even dragged Kit, who used to be the baby, out to the farm this year. He's only four or five, but Dad said his father forced him out in the fields when he was even younger. Dad is always telling us how lazy we are compared to him as a child. Grandma would be ashamed, or whatever family member he tries to condemn us with that day.

The verbal lashings are better than the real ones. They don't come often, but when the day has been real hot, and dad's got a cold brown bottle in his hand, one little slip up of the tongue or even a slip of the feet could land us in trouble with dad. There may not be many trees around, but he'll find a switch, that's for sure. It stings bad.

I wish I could say we get days off, but even Sundays, when we don't have to get up too early, are miserable. We all pack into the truck. Us kids are too many to fit in the cab now. Will and Mickey have to sit in the back of the truck on the way to church and pretend that the sun-drenched metal truck bed isn't burning their skin off when they sit.

We're always late to church. Dad chews everyone out when we get home. Sabbath is supposed to be a day of rest, I think. But dad drives us out to collect the eggs, milk the goat, pluck the pesky yellow worms off of the zucchini, and water the thirsty plants. The last day of school has me counting down to the end of August. When I heard they were drawing out the school year last year, I got excited. Dad was real mad, and even more upset that I was grinning while he shouted. He switched me real bad that day.

Today was Tuesday, I think. Missing church always messes with my memory. Ma and the baby have the flu so we're not allowed to bother her. It was all okay for dad, though. He woke us up with the sun and drove us to the yard without breakfast. Without ma, we can't feed ourselves more than bread with whatever jam is on the shelf. She won't let us touch the stove. The gas is broken so the flames shoot real high. She gets burned all the time and won't let us near it.

I knew the day was gonna be a bad one when dad flicked Kit hard for whining about breakfast. The sun was hotter than normal. My skin has already been burned to a crisp. Dad says the sunscreen will kill us faster than the sun, so he won't let us use it.

After a few hours in the sun even Mickey, who idolized dad and did whatever he asked with reverence, was begging for a break.

We chugged water and made a couple mayo sandwiches. Now, I don't like mayo sandwiches one bit, but after a morning of hard work in the hot sun with no water, I could've eaten ten of them. Kit barely had three bites of his sandwich when dad was ushering us back out into the field.

One of the ties on my braid snapped and dad wouldn't let me go in the house for another one. He said he had half a mind to cut off my pigtails and be done with it. So, I tied the ends of both together with the one I had left. If I have one thing I like about myself, it is my hair. It was as blonde as ma's and real long too. I wore all my brother's old hand-me-downs. Without my braids, I'd look just like a boy. Dad couldn't cut my hair. I knew he'd forget about it if I dropped the topic altogether.

Dinner was nothing but sandwiches too. We had one bowl of chili left, but dad said that was for ma. But at least this time we got to put some tuna on our sandwiches. I was downright starving.

Bedtime followed shortly after. Now, most kids hate bedtime. I don't hate the sleeping part. I hate sharing the bed with Kit. He still acts like he's not even potty trained much and wets the bed at least once a week. Now, I suppose I don't get too mad, except when waking up in the middle of night. Laundry is my job, so it gets me out of the sun a day or two a week. Anyways, I guess I just like going to bed because it makes me one day closer to the start of fall and the end of summer.

I woke to dust motes. They drifted lazily, basking in the light from my open window in the early sunrise. I rolled my eyes at them. A year or two ago, I might've gotten lost in the way they looked like a thousand shards of glitter. I might've smiled softly and lifted my fingers to send them stirring on a tiny, frantic breeze. Today, like every other day for the last six years, they only reminded me of my utter ineptitude. I couldn't keep my bedroom dusted, for Christ's sake, how could I be expected to achieve anything truly substantial at all? Not that I wanted to. No. I'd greedily retreated into the mundane, into normalcy, routine, whatever. This. This is the life I wanted. This is the life I chose.

The words haunted me as I scurried into the bathroom and slathered body wash under a tepid stream of water. They slithered along my skin along with the brisk toweling down I gave myself after. They sang with every sweep of the hair brush. Hell, I could even hear them in the spritz of perfume I applied: one spurt to my wrist, one splash on my collarbone. Like every other day, it was the same. My body fell into a rhythm, moving without me giving any conscious thought at all. It was so mindless, I was hardly surprised when I found myself sitting at my desk at work with no memory of the drive, stacking paperwork tidily, as I did every morning. I settled into my chair and nursed at my coffee. My insulated mug kept it a little too hot, so I pried off the lid, let the steam fog my glasses and took in my cluttered desk. The stacked papers were the only thing that looked vaguely organized. Little trinkets were scattered beneath my monitor, a tiny carved dragon, a chipped miniature disco ball, and a bottle cap my daughter had colored with swipes of rainbow crayon. A stained floral mouse-pad sat under my keyboard, the passage of time marked in splashes of spilled coffee and remnants of sandwich crumbs. When I'd gotten the promotion, Daniel had bought the huge mousepad for me. He'd handed it to me nervously, unable to meet my eyes under trembling lashes and muttered, "For that dreary office... something pretty," his voice had caught in his throat as he'd dragged his eyes up to meet mine, "pretty. Like you." I smiled at the memory. That'd been the beginning of the end for me. Those words that'd so obviously taken every ounce of Daniel's bravery to utter had been my undoing. They'd been the beginning of my stagnation.

Daniel was... comfortable. I'd fallen into him like a feather bed. He'd wrapped me up and offered up everything I'd ever dared to dream: a house in the suburbs, two gorgeous kids, a nice-ish car, and a decently good-looking and kind mate to share it with. What more could a girl want? My smile turned bitter and broke, falling off of my face and drowning in my now lukewarm coffee. This is the life I wanted. This is the life I chose. I didn't have anything to complain about. I should be happy. I was happy. If I said it enough, maybe I'd finally believe it.

I spent the next three hours clacking away at the keyboard, organizing figures into columns on my spreadsheet until my eyes went foggy from staring at the screen. I leaned back and pressed my fingers into my eyelids, rubbing a bit to dislodge the fog. A soft knock sounded on my door and Patrick poked his blonde head in, "Hey, you know what day it is, right?" A mischievous grin unfurled above his sculpted jaw.

I smirked, folded my arms, and rocked a little in my chair, "Nah. Enlighten me, Patch."

"Well, muchacha," he snickered, "it is noon, on a Tuesday. I saw Mateo's food truck parked on the avenue. Taco Tuesday. You in?"

"Thank fuck. Yes, I'm in."

Patch barked a laugh, "Is that any way for a boss to speak in front of her underlings?"

I grabbed my coat and gave him a shove as I passed him in the doorway, "Oh, screw off," I chuckled, "you know you love me. And you, Patrick, are not my underling."

He held up placating hands, "Whatever you say." His eyes sparkled with glee and my stomach dropped a little. I took an extra second to look him over, knowing that was as far as it'd ever go. Was Patrick nice to look at? Yes. Very. Did he and I like to flirt? Yes. Was he the only thing that made this miserable job worth it? Also yes. Would either of us ever act on the current of white-hot attraction that flowed between us? No. A resounding no. I had everything I ever wanted, and so did he. Both of us were married with the kids and the house and the doting spouse. So we looked... and looked... but never, ever touched. Well, not really, anyway. Not the way we wanted to.

Patch and I took a long lunch, though that wasn't unusual. We got lost easily in conversation and went over our hour nearly every day. Sometimes when we sat at the sticky picnic table on the sidewalk beside Mateo's Famous Tacos truck, Patrick would let his knee brush mine. He did it today and something sparked when his eyes met mine. I jerked my leg away like I always did, but I knew he'd seen in my eyes that I'd relished the touch. Like he always did. He smirked. I grinned. We both laughed in quiet knowing as we made our way back to the office. This constant hovering on the knife's edge with Patrick was the only thing keeping either of us sane.

The next hours passed in a blur of stirring papers and clicking pens. When it was over, I made the drive home in much the same way I had made the drive to work. I arrived without really knowing how I'd gotten home. Had I stopped at the red lights? Had I gone the speed limit? What music had played? I didn't know. I didn't care. I smacked a kiss onto Daniel's cheek and plopped one on the top of my daughters' heads as I made my way to my customary seat at the dining table. We ate spaghetti and spoke of the same things we always did. How was school? The girls grumbled some half-hearted reply. How was work? Daniel and I muttered about something or other. Anything exciting happen? Everyone mumbled a dead-hearted no.

After dinner, it was our customary race to be free of one another's presence. The girls sequestered themselves in their bedrooms, where angsty music echoed off of the walls. Daniel made his way to the sofa loosening his tie and picking up the remote. I scrubbed dishes and guzzled two glasses of red wine before settling into an armchair with a book. We all made our lazy way to beds, after checking locks and brushing teeth and slowly slipping out of the day's wrinkled clothes. I settled under the covers next to Daniel and the both of us continued what we'd been doing in the living room until finally heaving a mutual sigh, turning off our lamps, and whispering goodnight before turning away from one another in bed. When Daniel sighed a third time into the darkness, I knew it was coming.

He rolled towards me and twined his fingers into my hair. My toes curled...a little. Daniel knew me well. He knew I liked it when he pulled my hair... a little. He ran kisses down my neck. I ground my bottom into him, but didn't roll over. I reached behind me and shoved my fingers into his hair, too, urging him to keep pelting my neck in kisses. I wished he'd bite me, but he didn't. His fingers were clumsy as he pulled the waistband of my night shorts down and ran an exploratory thumb down my center, making sure I was ready enough. I was. That'd never been a problem for us.

We fucked like lazy spoons, clacking about in the cutlery drawer. When I came, I pictured Patrick's face. I'd done it for so many years, I didn't even feel ashamed of it anymore. It's not that Daniel wasn't attractive or that I didn't love him, even. He was just so... ordinary. Safe. Normal. We were bored of one another. It's why we always turned out the lights before finding release. He didn't want to see the faces I made in the throes of...well, whatever it was we did to emulate passion. And I didn't want to see his face, either. His face was as familiar to me as my own, and-- there wasn't any magic in that.

Daniel handed me a tissue and kissed my cheek. "Good night," he said.

"Good night," I echoed. But I didn't fall asleep. I couldn't, though it'd just been an ordinary day. A heaviness settled over me, an ache at the center of my chest that grew until it felt I'd tear in two. I stared at the silhouette of my closet door until it blurred into meaninglessness. Daniel's breathing turned thick and wet, asleep. And with every breath I heard those words I kept telling myself: This is the life I wanted. This is the life I chose.

Maybe if I said it enough, I'd believe it.

Today starts the same as any other, with the sound of a whispered “I love you” walking out the bedroom door. I lay in bed as the room rumbles with the movement of the garage door. I miss when we had few weekday obligations and woke up in each other’s arms. I wrap myself tighter in the empty sheets.

My heart still flutters when he texts me good morning, just like when we lived states apart. It starts my cold morning on a warm note. I smile and begin to pry myself from the comfort of our bed. I miss the time when I woke up feeling rested, but I miss the days when we woke up together so much more.

I brush my teeth and throw on the work-from-home special, a dress shirt with sweatpants. I look at myself in the mirror and am glad he isn’t home to see the witch hair I tried to tame into a ponytail. Then, my commute involves walking across the hall and into my home office. I sit down and the house is silent save for the occasional mild creak when a strong gust of wind blows through. There’s just something missing.

I preemptively wince when I open my work laptop. I already know what I’m going to see, a day full of back-to-back conference calls. The screen flashes on and shows me I’m right, much to my dismay. I start my first call with an artificial smile plastered on my face. The smile wanes along with my patience with each passing call.

After five grueling video calls, all I have to show for it is an ever-growing task list that I can’t tackle until the barrage of conversations finally ends. I have an hour-long block on my calendar to respond to emails and work on a presentation. It tricks me into feeling like I’m taking a break because finally, I don’t have someone’s voice chirping in my ears.

It’s hard to quiet down an anxious brain. My mind is filled with questions. Why did I choose this line of work again? Are there any remote islands I can move to? What time is it? God, it’s only 2:00 PM. My mind may shut down if I have to do this any longer. Have I begun to hate people? I ask myself this every day.

Then, I hear a familiar voice downstairs call out my name. I couldn’t hear the rumble of the garage from my office on the other side of the house. His calm, smooth voice cuts through the sea of nagging demands I had been drowning in. I run down to give him a kiss.

“What are you doing home so early?” I ask. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

He looks down at me and grins. “I snuck out of the office early to hang out with you.”

I smile, then immediately frown when I remember the mountain of work I need to dig myself out of. The boundary between work and home is blurred to the detriment of the remote worker. Even when I step away from my desk, I still get a constant flood of emails and messages to my phone.

Then I remember how I was checking emails at Disney World and responding to a “fire” on Christmas Eve. I think of all the trips I had to postpone to accommodate work needs. I think of my kids asking me why mommy never has time to play with them. I can’t let that happen. I give him a kiss and ask for a few minutes to wrap everything up.

I put my laptop and notepad away and sit down next to him on the couch. “Afternoon nap?” I ask him.

He nods and pulls me toward him. My head lies on his chest and nestled into his shoulder. I can hear every steady heartbeat thumping alongside mine and my breathing slows to match his. I wish life could stay just like this.

The peach trees are in bloom and her birthday was last week.

They're vibrant and pink and remind me of cherry blossoms in Japan or DC. They almost don't look real; they're spatters of paint on otherwise bare limbs. Some modern artist randomly touched a wet brush to knobby wood.

I figure we'll have another frost before April, and those pretty little bits of pink paint will droop and drab and go sepia.

I didn't wish her a happy birthday.

Clinton was in office the last time we spoke, but I still remember how she smells. Her laughter echoes in the chuckles of others.

Grief isn't always about death.

It's absence.

I mourn alone with others every day, and today, the peach trees are in bloom.

I tell myself that I don't care that her birthday was last week.

Frost will come for those trees as surely as some lies keep me warm.

The lockdown had taken its toll on our family, and it seemed like nothing would ever be the same again. As we returned from quarantine, my mother and I were plunged into a world without my father, who had lost his battle with cancer while we were away. My mother, usually composed and strong, was now a shell of her former self as she struggled to plan what she called a "celebration" for my father's life. But as soon as we stepped foot into our home and saw that picture of him smiling above the condolences book, all pretenses fell apart. My mother crumbled in front of me, her cries echoing through the empty house where my father's absence was painfully evident. And in that moment, I couldn't help but feel the weight of our loss and how much my parents' love for each other would never be the same again.

Upon a bridge of whispered stone,

Solitary she stands, a specter disowned.

Beneath the river, a symphony of woe,

Guilt, a seamstress, weaving thoughts slow.

Dullness draped in hues of ashen sorrow,

A weighted palette, whispers laden, borrowed.

In that tempted mind, a tapestry frayed,

A soul adrift, a desolation conveyed.

Eyes transcend into the water's astral face,

Reflecting a woman, a mosaic misplaced.

What meaning lies in this cyclical refrain,

Guide on her shoulder, a puppeteer of disdain.

Dear damned be the guilty in languid sloth,

A nefarious word, a tempest of thought.

“Leap?” her guide spits, a feverish urge,

Life's threads unraveled, livelihood to purge.

Beneath the bridge, the waters softly weep,

A reflection of questions, a celestial sweep.

The dullness echoes, resonates within,

A yearning for purpose, longing to end.

Today she mirrors her mother's ghost,

A voice akin to that of shadows enclosed.

"Leap, my dear, where adventure awaits,

Sloth's shackles break, death, a tempting gate."

A silence erodes beyond this streaming dream,

For a moment, quiet yields to an enigmatic gleam.

Mother’s gospel compels, an ethereal spell,

Dancing with death, an unbroken carousel.

Hasten be a woman’s feet entwined,

Tempted by water, dared to unbind.

A rush, an ephemeral escape from ennui,

A heartbeat shattered, her last breath, a symphony.

Part 1 - Nadie Nunca

I. I always wake up early

II. I make my bed every morning

III. I brush my teeth and practice self-care right away

IV. I meditate and manifest my dreams every day

i. I don’t wanna wake up.

a) I hit snooze at least twelve times every morning. Every morning, I wake up to an annoying alarm and think, “I just fell asleep. I’m not waking up yet.”

b) My alarm is set to play “Yellow Ledbetter” by Pearl Jam and I hate it every morning. Every morning, I hate myself as I hit snooze the millionth time and think, “This stupid fucking song again. I’m not getting up yet. I don’t have to.”

c) Every morning, I hate myself and wish I got up earlier.

ii. I never make my bed

a) It’s hard for me to get out of bed so I never have enough time to make it anywhere on time. I’m always running late and I hate waking up.

b) “I never have enough time.” That’s a lie I tell myself every morning before, “How much time do I have left?” I never have enough time to make my bed because I never get out of bed on time. That’s a lie too.

c) “Why do I do this to myself?” That’s a question I ask myself every morning before, “God, I hate myself. I never make my bed.” And I ask myself again and again, “Why do I do this to myself?”

iii. I don’t brush my teeth everyday

a) On days I don’t need an alarm, I don’t brush my teeth when I wake up. And I definitely don’t make my bed. I’m useless.

b) I never brush my teeth unless I have to be somewhere, and I don’t have to be somewhere every day. I tell myself. “I don’t have to go.”

c) Every day I think, “Why am I so gross? No one loves gross. Why do I do this to myself? I hate myself. I’m not going anywhere. I don’t have to.” Maybe if I wake up earlier every day then I would hate myself less one day. Probably not though.

iv. I talk shit to myself

a) I start every morning begrudgingly and vacillate between obsessive chaos thoughts and self-deprecating shit talk. I don’t like myself and I tell myself all the time.

b) I hate myself every morning and all day long. Nights are better.

c) No one likes me, and they shouldn’t. I’m no one, and I don’t like myself either.

Part 2 – Siempre Todos

I. I always wake up early

II. I make my bed every morning

III. I brush my teeth and practice self-care right away

IV. I meditate and manifest my dreams every day

i. I always wake up early.

ii. I only need to set one alarm and I wake up with gratitude every morning. I always feel rested and think, “I feel so good. I’m going to get so much done today.”

iii. I wake up a few minutes before my alarm goes off every morning. I always feel calm as I open my eyes and welcome the beautiful new day.

iv. I always wake up before the alarm goes off and it's a reminder to smile and thank the universe for giving me life. I feel good about myself every day and I’m happy.

v. I make my bed every morning.

vi. I express gratitude every morning as I swing my legs off the bed, stretch big, and stand up straight. I always think, “I feel so good, and I’m so glad I woke up early. It’s going to be a great day.”

vii. I always have plenty of time to make my bed and tidy my room as soon as I wake up. It’s the first thing I do every morning, and it always make me happy.

viii. “Good job girlfriend. You’re doing a great job.” I don’t tell myself lies and say mean things to myself. I love myself.

ix. I brush my teeth and practice self-care

x. After I wake up early, make my bed, and tidy my room, I always brush my teeth and practice self-care. It makes me feel so good about myself, why wouldn’t I do it every morning?

xi. As I brush my teeth I always think, “You’re doing a good job today, and you look beautiful today too.” I’m grateful I wake up early and I love myself a little more every morning.

xii. I always plenty of time to moisturize my skin, do my hair and makeup, and put together a killer outfit. My jewelry, shoes, and nails always look great every day, and I always tell myself, “Damn girl. You look great.”

xiii. I meditate and manifest my dreams every day.

xiv. I love myself and I deserve love. I'm grateful. Life is good.

xv. Nothing is impossible for me. I have unshakable dedication to my goals. I’m a highly focused woman. I’m unstoppable today.

Part 3 – Cada Día

Rule #1. Write it down.

Rule #2. Write it down. Words have power.

Rule #3. Say it loud. Speak it into existence.

Don’t die without embracing the daring adventure your life was meant to be.

Set your life on fire. Seek those that fan your flames.

When people look back on their lives, they’re more upset about the things they didn’t do than the mistakes they made when they were doing things.

The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.

I write wonderful stories in a wonderful way. I work for a wonderful publisher who gives me wonderful pay because my stories are amazing and everyone loves them in their own wonderful way.

I love myself and I deserve love. I'm grateful. Life is good.

Nothing is impossible for me. I’m unstoppable.

I retrace my steps, one by one by one by one

Until I never left

I take back what I've said, word by word by word by word

Until I've said nothing

I unsee the things I saw, horror by horror by horror by horror

Until I've seen nothing

I deny what I've heard, secret by secret by secret by secret

Until I've heard nothing

I forget what I've learned, lesson by lesson by lesson by lesson

Until I've learned nothing

I remedy what I've done, hurt by hurt by hurt by hurt

Until I'm completely innocent

I've pulled back from what I've reached for, desire by desire by desire by desire

Until I'm inversely proportional to the square of the distance

The sound was like music to her ears. An orchestrated masterpiece. One pop. Two pop. Three. A crackle there and another here. A loud snap and a grand boom for the finale.

Encore! Encore! Encore!

She smiled wide. Her eyes shone bright. She danced and jumped and swung her arms wildly around her, mimicking the movement of the flames. It might have been the most joyous moment of her life. She finally felt free. She was free.

The flickering flames lit up the surrounding area and cast long, dark shadows across the gathering crowd, hiding the contorted and judgmental faces of those watching.

Isn’t it lovely? Isn’t it beautiful?

She laughed wickedly, filling the silence around her. She danced more and more spinning in erratic circles. Her fingers would brush against the flames, burning them little by little with every touch. She slowly came to a stop, standing there admiring the gallantly burning fire. She dropped to the ground trying to catch her breath, her chest quickly rising and falling.

They deserved it. They all deserved it.

She was roughly pulled to her feet by a pair of hands on each arm. She dropped her head back to look at the two officers dragging her away from the burning structure. They begin to read her her rights, as if she was listening. She laughed maniacally, occasionally coughing due to the smoke, as they brought her to the police car.

“She’s a fucking nutjob.”

“Just cuff her and put her in the car.”

The crowd cheered as the car pulled away from the scene. She looked out the window and marveled at the sight.

Look how they cheer for me! Look! Look!

She watched admirably as the crowd suddenly turned toward the fire and became silent. The fire has fully engulfed the building, forcing it to crumble to the ground.

“Well at least I know the alarm still works,” I think as I silence my phone.

I savor a few extra minutes under the covers, but I know I can’t dally too long. The reason for that is now waking up next to me and the first item on her to-do list is always to give me a wet kiss and promptly plop the whole of her body weight onto my chest.

"Oof, good morning, River," I say as I try to push her off my face. "How did you sleep?"

She doesn't usually say much, so I have to make up responses on her behalf.

"You had a dream that you had unlimited access to a cheese, bacon, and peanut butter distribution center? And there was an emergency that required all of the inventory to be eaten as fast as possible? Wow that is a good dream."

My day officially starts when I brave the chilly world outside of my bed. I'll believe winter's over when I don't have put on sweats and a hoody as soon as I wake up every morning. Once I get myself dressed and go to the bathroom, the next order of business is getting the dog out for the first time. It's especially during the colder months that I wish I had a yard so I didn't also have to go outside every time she needed to pee and poop. No point in complaining, though.

"All right, River. Let's go," I say for the fifth time as she stares at me from the warmth of the bed.

Finally, she gets up and I put her harness, collar, and jacket on her, and out we go. When it's below 40 degrees out she usually finds a spot just off the porch to pee and then wants to go back in. No arguments here.

I'm working from home today, so the rest of the day consists of me sitting at my desk and River lying on the couch only to get up every now and then to check if that one patch of sunlight that crawls across my bedroom floor is in a good spot yet.

At lunch, I take her out for another walk. This time we go a little farther, venturing into the adjacent neighborhoods. River gets wound up pretty easily, especially when she sees another dog, so I've been working on taking time-outs during the walk to find a calming moment.

"River, sit."

Saying this makes her look around nervously to check her surroundings. Because why would I tell her to sit if there was nothing around to bark at? Eventually she sits, but is still looking around. According to the trainer we go to, I should reward her when she gives her attention to me instead of whatever else is going on in the world. When she looks at me I praise her, give her a treat from the pouch clipped to my waistband, and we resume our walk. I try to do this every block or so. Sometimes it seems like it's working, other times not so much.

I finish out the work day, which has been the same as almost every work day before it and probably all the ones to come. The only thing that kind of gets me through it is talking shit with one of my coworkers in a Teams chat about someone else in our office.

At the end of the workday it is time for our evening walk. This can be a somewhat stressful walk for River because of what I refer to as the post-work pre-dinner dog-walk rush. She manages decently well--only a few outbursts and lunges--and we are back home for dinner.

I settle onto the couch for what I would call some well-deserved TV time. When I finish my food and no longer have a plate to defend, I let River curl up on my lap and we watch another episode.

I get her out for one last walk before bed, and then get ready to go to sleep. Without fail, River jumps in bed before me and lies exactly where I sleep.

"River, we go over this every single night. That's my spot. You can't sleep there because that's where I sleep. Move over to your side of the bed. I'm giving you like a third of my bed. I think that's plenty generous."

If I try to move her by hand she growls and she can move her head really fast, so I started luring her off with a piece of kibble, which I know is setting a dangerous precedent, but one behavioral issue at a time.

I read for a bit before turning the light out. When I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep is usually when the sadness, emptiness, and loneliness take hold. Since I got River, I can't remember the last time I felt that way.