"You don't look so bad after all."
She smiles back at me. She knows. It's me that forgets and needs to be reminded.
"Where you been," she asks.
"Working. Wandering. Traveling. You know, it's my summer themed Wandering Jew," I answer. I always have answers. I always have words. I just don't always want to be still with them.
"So, are we going to start digging and get to work?"
I breathe. I open the folder. I start reading the feedback on my essays, the words of da coach, fellow workshoppers, and myself.
"I can do that." I'm not sure whether I say it with my inside or outside voice, but I know that it's time to get back to work, to be more steady in my practice of craft, to intend, even if I don't always meet those intentions.
I look back at my writing goals I set at the beginning of the year and feel accomplished that half of them are completed. But I have sat too long. And most importantly, I miss the work. I miss the practice.
"Now get to work," she says.