I got out of the house by 9:00 a.m. and made my way to Fairfield to attend my first meeting of the Writer’s Resource Center.  I’ve never belonged to a writer’s group so I had no idea what to expect, but I did think there would be coffee.  There’s coffee at an AA meeting, isn’t there?  Writing is at least as addictive.  Alas, none.

After I got over that shock, I started introducing myself.  I met  poets, fiction writers, and even a publisher.  I studied people’s faces as they read their responses to the monthly writing prompt.  I drank a bottle of water, hallucinating the fragrance of freshly ground beans.

I headed back to Rio Vista at noon, getting slightly lost looking for gas, a restroom, and lunch.  I ended my journey at Lucy’s Cafe, with a book and a gnawing hunger for garlic fries.

Four hours later, I’m squirming on my desk chair with a sore bum from my first official fall in Angel’s Haven.  I knew better than to rise early and move through a day of many changes.  I wore myself out traveling here and back again, down Highway 12 as the windmills rose in the mist, cutting through the fog like  a knife in the bowl of soft butter on my counter.

Another load has cycled through its paces in the washer/dryer combo.  I’m almost finished with all the accumulated laundry.  I’ll deploy my new drying rack for the tights. I shrank a pair earlier Ihis week.  Doing laundry in a tiny house involves a learning curve.

I haven’t taken my medicine for two days due to a rocky stomach.  I’m not sure what I ate that disagreed with me but the mound of fries from Lucy’s set just fine.  Everything’s groovy; it’s peachy-keen and Jim-Dandy.   It’s a Saturday in the Delta and I have no complaints.

It’s the thirteenth day of the forty-ninth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Visit the Website of Rupi Kaur to read more of her poetry.