Bedhead & the Beginning of the End

The air smells like lavender, my hair hasn’t seen a brush in days, and somehow, I think I just started the last chapter of the book.

It’s 7:02am. I’ve been up since five. Not because I wanted to be, but because my brain decided to start its day early—with energy and opinions. And yet, despite the sleep deprivation and the undeniable lure of a nap already creeping in, something remarkable happened in the quiet.

I think I just started writing the final chapter of my book.
Let me say that again:
The final chapter.
Holy shit.

The house is cool this morning in that new-A/C-motor-installed-yesterday kind of way. The hum of the air conditioning is almost meditative. There’s a simmer pot on the stove—lavender and lemon—and the scent has made its way into every corner of the kitchen and most of the living room. My playlist is keeping me company, as is the soft snore of Walter, tucked in his crate after waking up in a mood. (We both needed a reset.)

I’m still in my pajamas. Hair that hasn’t seen a brush in a few days. A full-on situation happening back there that I will deal with later, maybe. But who cares—because I’m writing.

My number one priority for this sabbatical was to work on the book. The second was my gardens. And somehow, against all odds, I’m doing both. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But I’m showing up and doing the work—and I think I’m doing it well.

Writing, for me, is like pilates: so hard, so focused, that I can only concentrate on the thing at hand. There’s no room for multitasking. No tabs open. Just the words. Just the next sentence. Just the shape of the thing slowly revealing itself.

This morning, in the in-between haze of tired and inspired, I think I finally felt the shift. The turn. The almost done feeling.

Maybe today isn’t about catching up on errands or being a functional adult or even remembering to eat breakfast. Maybe today is just this:

Hair that hasn’t seen a brush in a few days.
A quiet house filled with lavender and lemon.
A snoring dog.
A final chapter.

The sense—finally, fully—that I’m almost there.