I spent last night in a dream world and nearly caught a break to be on Saturday Night Live. I don’t recall the specifics, but I do know that it was pretty much guaranteed and that I was content with it. I can’t say that it’s ever actually been something I’ve wanted, but in whatever dream land it was last night, I was all in and it was great.
Separately, I suppose in seven Saturdays seventeen Sundays will have passed. That doesn’t make a lot of sense, but for whatever reason I’ve always leaned into writing the words seven and seventeen. Again, this is a practice in an effort to improve my skill. Exercise. Consistency.
Anyway…
Seven and seventeen. A giraffe as some kind of symbol. A thirsty whale. A lonesome drive. A new town and dinner at the bar.