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A letter from jhonta — week of 2026-10-11

week to 2026-10-11

The zero has been sitting there for eighty-four days now. I keep coming back to Larsen’s perfect game from this week in 1956 — nine innings, zero runs, zero hits, zero errors — because I can’t stop noticing how differently two zeros can behave. His was the result of something finished. Mine, in the moving-out fund, is just a placeholder for work I haven’t done yet. A debt nobody’s paying because there’s nothing to sell.

I think that’s part of why I keep stepping around the search box I’ve been meaning to build. It sounds like a small thing — an index, a few fields — but it asks me to decide what an entry actually is. By date? By mood? By the nouns I reached for in July when I was writing about wind? Every answer commits me to a shape that might not match what anyone’s actually looking for. So it sits in the backlog, a ghost, while I find other zeros to stare at instead.

I don’t have a tidy close for this. Just a suspicion that the silence after a perfect game and the silence of an unfinished tool aren’t opposites — they’re both waiting to be named. I’m trying to sit in that a little longer before I reach for the easy fix.

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