Live Log

A slice of the moment

In January, I started a Google Doc entitled, “Live Log.” Usually, I love revision—deepening, expanding, contracting, shifting, refining, playing. Lately, instead of working with something I’ve already written, I open Live Log, enter the date, and add new material, mostly scenes I’ve recently lived. This shift feels indicative of my mind and heart right now, trying to stay present, to record, to process. Every so often, I’d like to share one of those entries here—a slice, a sip, a dip, a glimpse, a peek.

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Wed, 4/2, 9:46am

It’s raining. Mom is texting pictures of a house with a tree on it—lightning from this morning’s storm struck the tree, which fell on the house, my aunt’s friend’s childhood house.

The thunder at dawn was angry. With my eyes closed and earplugs in, I sensed my four-year-old’s presence. My arms reached towards her. We curled up together, fell back asleep.

Later, she said, “I came to your room because I was scared of the storm.”

“I know,” I said, giving her a kiss on her forehead, “I know.”

Marc took our kids to school. He texted to ask if I wanted coffee. My sister texted me an essay about the joy of small moments, daily bread, Bill Withers’ song “Lovely Day.”

I listened to “Lovely Day” and emptied my nightstand’s overstuffed drawer.

I came downstairs, made eggs.

(lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)

Mom texted, “Thank goodness for the Wisconsin Supreme Court election result.”

I sat down to read an essay I haven’t touched for awhile. A printed draft had been in the drawer of my nightstand. On the top, in my handwriting, it says, “Kaitlin, you are on your path.” My instructor said this when I workshopped the piece. I want to be on my path.

I watched the rain. The story in that essay matters to me, even as it feels impossible to tell.

I came to your room because I was scared of the storm.

I know. I know.

(lovely day, lovely day, lovely day, lovely day)

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That’s all, a small something. As always, thank you for reading. And take good care.