I'm down to 1 book left in my first print run. The rest have all been sold/spoken for, and it feels so surreal and exciting to say that. My words have found their way to the Netherlands, Canada, South Africa, England, the west and east coast of the US and to a smattering of cities in between. I've received photos of it on beds, in open palms, on a stack of other beloved books. It feels like I've sent out bits of love and the love has returned to me in tiny, beautiful ways. I'm so grateful. For all of it. I was catching up with my dear friend Joseph via video chat today and expressed to him how I've been feeling both proud and guilty. Proud of myself for working so hard the past few months, for fully immersing myself in the hard work that comes with diving into one's craft. And guilty because of this busy-ness. I'm used to being someone who gives a lot of time to checking in on others, and lately I've felt more pulled away from that than usual. It's

Renee and I were joking today, about being busy--how if things to do are things being carried then I'm using both hands, both feet, all my teeth, and a swaying stack of tea cups clatter balanced on my head. The month of May, an exquisite tumbling of thing after thing after thing. My birthday is my new year, and for each one I like to reflect heavily. I usually write up something in this space to honor it, but this time I didn't have just that: time. I kept the reflecting more on the quiet side, staring off into a space a lot on the actual day. My love and I were married 9 days before it so I felt entirely surrounded by sweetness. Truly a gorgeous month. May also marked the month I started my role as a teaching assistant in a fairly intense writing workshop. I'm feeling particularly proud of grinding for this position--last fall I took the workshop as a student for the first time. This helped push me to finish my book--huge victory. I took it again in the first month of 202