Walked part of the way home with groceries and noticed I was matching my steps to the song coming from a parked car. I had been sitting at the coverstitch machine most of the day, moving the same foot on the pedal, so it felt good to use both legs for something bigger. Switched the bag from one hand to the other when the handles started pressing into my fingers. Nothing hurt, I was just warm and properly hungry by the stairs. My son met me halfway up and took the bread, the lightest thing, with great effort. I let him. We reached the kitchen talking at the same time, and I ate a piece before putting the rest of the groceries away.

On final inspection I can point to a twisted seam immediately, but writing the reason in the report takes longer than finding it. I keep choosing words that sound too simple, then replacing them with something less clear. The supervisor only needs to know where the problem begins and whether it repeats across the bundle. I tried describing one piece as if I were explaining it to the operator beside me, then added the size and lot number. That reads better. Still checked the spelling twice before saving it. I want the quality-control work, including this part, but I miss how my hands can show something correctly without first worrying whether it sounds professional.

My daughter asked if she could skip the parish pantry shift with me because her friend had invited her out. I said yes before she finished explaining, then spent the next hour feeling put aside, which was not very fair after such an easy yes. I like having her beside me at the rice table, hearing her talk to people without needing me to translate anything. She still wants to come another time, she said so. I told my sister I was annoyed about losing help and she asked whether we were actually short of volunteers. We weren't. I suppose I had already pictured our morning together and forgotten to check whether she had the same picture.