An architect asked me to book a meeting with everyone available, then listed three people who did not actually need to attend. I started hunting for a time anyway before wondering why I was solving the hardest version of this problem. Asked what decision they needed from the meeting and suddenly it was four people, not fourteen. Great, love discovering that half my calendar panic was optional. I keep thinking about how often I hear everybody and treat it like a precise instruction. My mother's the same, family dinner means the entire population. The smaller meeting is booked. Now someone has asked if it needs to be a meeting at all. Please decide before I move another Tuesday.

Ok so I wore the flats that have been living in my bag like an emergency plan nobody intends to use, and the walk home felt weirdly quiet. No clicking, no little adjustment every time the sidewalk changed height, just my feet actually landing flat. I still had the pressure marks from the heels when I took my socks off, but my calves weren't doing their usual end-of-day tightening act. Sat on the floor to open wedding boxes and stayed there longer than planned, legs stretched out between ribbon samples. My roommate asked if I was sorting by color. Honestly, I was mostly enjoying not having shoes on. The ribbons could fend for themselves.

My best friend asked whether I wanted to stop working on wedding stuff and just watch something terrible together. I almost said we were behind, because apparently I am incapable of receiving a perfectly nice invitation without consulting a deadline. Then she said she missed hanging out with me, which hit harder than it should when we literally share an apartment. I was happy she said it and also hurt, like all the help had somehow kept me out of the room. We watched a ridiculous show and I laughed properly, not my efficient little office laugh. The binder stayed on the table. I did check it once, but I didn't open it.