The cat and dog want to go outside and then come in and then go out again. I check to see if any tomatoes are ripe. I pick up dog poop. I walk around, refill my water glass. I read something I wrote. I open a book. I look up a word. I look up something else. I close my computer and then open it. I log in. I click my pencil. Outside, I assemble a word bank in my notebook, and I try to use each of the words in sentences. I rearrange the sentences. I look up. I let the cat out. I stand on a chair to look over the fence into the neighbor’s yard, pretending to look for the cat. I write another sentence. I change into my running clothes. I don’t wear headphones. I run the same route. I think of something and stop and I write it in the notes on my phone. I get home. I check my notebook, stretch, shower, eat. I open a new tab. I type what was in the notebook. I rearrange sentences. I open several books at once and pull words and sentences from those books into my notebook and then I type them on the computer. I make coffee and drink it. I use a foam roller on my legs. I look out the window. I reread sentences. I make another word bank. I open a book. I take a word from that book and put it in my notebook and then type it. I research something, and then something else. I get up. I pull up dead plants and chase a squirrel out. I look up a word and then something else. I refill my water glass. I go into another room. I have the dog on my lap.
Kelly Krumrie’s prose, poetry, and reviews are forthcoming from or appear in Entropy, La Vague, Full Stop, Black Warrior Review, and elsewhere. She is a PhD student in Creative Writing at the University of Denver and holds an MFA from the University of San Francisco. She is currently the Prose Editor at Denver Quarterly.
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