by Jaclyn Quigley
Getting out of bed in the morning, tiptoeing to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. Filling a cup of water to shower my thirsty plants. Two scoops of food in the dog’s bowl and a short walk to the grassy patch across the street for her to stretch her legs. Pouring him a to-go mug when I come back in, kissing him on his way out the door.
An hour on the couch with my notebook, turning life into words, my emotions into sentences. A shower, gently combing through my knotty hair, letting the warm water wash away the night of sleep before. Drying off, wrapping myself in a cosy towel, clothes to prepare me for the day.
Taking care of things now that I can take care of myself again. The quiet of morning gracefully taking me in, letting me wake up slowly, holding me close as I hold my family close, getting us ready to face the day, already ready to come home and be together again.
Jaclyn Quigley is a writer, a lover, a fighter. Her heart is in New York, her body is in Dallas. She’s not into bullshit.
This piece was originally published on Jaclyn’s site which you can find here: jaclynquigley.squarespace.com/writing/takingcare