My life right now is slow -- sometimes excruciatingly slow. Whole aspects of it have become defined by waiting. My life right now is also smaller than it has ever been. It’s shrunk to the local news station that employs me, to my bedroom, my living room, my kitchen. As everything slows and shrinks around me, the amount of time I spend in my living room drinking tea and coffee and talking with my partner has stretched, ballooned, until it seems we are always on this couch together, waiting for work or waiting for bedtime or waiting for some unnamed moment where we’re allowed to be somewhere else. I’ve tried to make that wait as painless as possible, in the hopes that when I look back on these moments they feel more languid than protracted -- full of small sweetnesses, soaked with the sun.