Caelyn Sandel

The Wait Strikes Twelve

Added 2023-09-01 15:00:06 +0000 UTC

It's well past my preferred sleep cycle, but a film of day-stress clings to me like a film of astringent oil, keeping me awake and agitated. My partner is still at work.

I am painstakingly crafting a rectangular frame of matte blue putty on our den wall. Hand-rolled tubes of tack pressed flat, the frame segments struggle to keep purchase against the smooth veneer of the wall and I discard several that fall onto the rug.

My first attempt to mount the art fails miserably, and I lose half of the frame. It takes less time to replace them, and the second time I press the canvas to the wall, it stays. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

It feels a little nice. Even by the harsh glow of the television, the art adds a splash of color to our home that we needed. I find myself wondering why I didn't do something like this sooner.

I find myself wondering why I know that I will not do more.