turpenoid

I have weird expectations.
I surprised myself today when I realized how much I cared about you.
I cried.
Then I stopped.
And here I am now, smelling oil paints, next to a pile of
graded math papers, coffee, my best friend
(They are not all in the same pile, if that is what you are thinking)
My eyes are sore.

Today is beautiful--
Ah, Northern California in December.
Light breeze, leaves dancing around and resting on the ground,
and warm friends.
"My own eyes are not enough for me."
Clearly, they are not. And sometimes (too often) too much.

I am not sure what I will do with free time when I have it.
I wish I had more music in me.