It starts with the hose in the hardware store. I can’t decide between 50 and 100 feet. Fifty. It’s easier on the budget and the yard is tiny.

A sprayer, now.

The blue nozzle. Definitely.

Wait, the green is nice.

Not the neon yellow. It might spook the dog.

Remember, he hates water. He’s never going to let you hose him down. One hundred and six degrees out and he’ll tell you to take a hike.

Blue it is.

At home, I water the jasmine and two sharkskin agave plants in pots. My grueling research of health insurance continues into the afternoon.

But will it be the right plan.

Salmon or tofu for dinner. Fiction, essay or Buddhism at bedtime.

Shit. The donation, I promised myself I’d make.

Flint, Michigan still can’t get safe water out of the tap and the kids are afraid to wash their hands. Families in Sonora State need groceries. Right here in Tucson people are struggling, too.

I pick one out of a mental hat.

I turn out the light, vowing that tomorrow I’m not going to overthink the small stuff, or the big stuff.

No perfect decisions. Just a whole lot of gratitude.