The Weeklies: July 14 - 20

My life feels... dense and last week was no exception. When someone asks me how's it going I struggle to remember every little twist and turn in the plot because things change daily. Every morning at 7:30 -- the sun turning the windows gray, my Echo alarm chiming, sweat in my hair -- I say to myself: "What is going to happen today?"

But that anxiety and uncertainty transformed into happiness on Thursday. I received a rejection from my dream literary journal, but a good rejection, saying they enjoyed my submission and asked me to send more work. I almost cried of joy at the office. I celebrated that night and I woke up Friday with a determination to write something better than what I submitted. Something I could be proud of.

There was talks of a heat wave coming. It would give me an excuse to lock myself in and write over the weekend. Instead, for some reason, I was quite sad and got nothing done. Saturday was a mess. The temperature hit a heat index of 109 degrees. I sat in the bathroom crying in the dark.

On Sunday, Alistair decided that, despite the heat, we should get out of the house. He bought tickets a film Iā€™d been dying to see, "The Last Black Man in San Fransisco," showing at the Angelica. It was a much-needed escape into a beautiful world of sunsets and hills and architecture. I nearly cried three times. There was a visually impaired, elderly man seated next to us, who had his friend describe the action to him in whispers. One of the character's in the film was also blind, and in a particular scene his grandson whispers to him during a movie in the very same way. I couldn't believe it. Something about it felt special.

Alistair wanted a snack so we walked to Boqueria for tapas (sangria, octopus, lamb on a skewer, roasted eggplant and churros with chocolate). We then walked in the heat (which felt stagnant, even with a breeze), passing open fire hydrants and people hiding in the shade.