• The tiny blister on the roof of my mouth from a rigorous bubble-blowing contest.
  • A repetitive, bell-like sound in the central A/C vent.
  • The weave of the dining room chair fabric pressing into my leg.
  • A produce bag containing red potatoes with its mouth moving in the A/C breeze.
  • To my left, the bottle of chalky chewable calcium that my doctor insists I must eat regularly.  I don’t like to.
  • A sense of fatigue and sadness, nestled inside a larger sense of safety and well-being.
  • The way my eyeballs feel as they move around the room.  They are wet machines.