UP. Feeling more alive than I have in days, this early. 7:22am. Don’t want to make coffee, 1) I don’t need it, and 2) it’d take from the sitting. Probably up to five minutes. A bit surprised I ordered two espresso shots last night in wine’s stead. Either way, it’s contributing to this A.M. manuscript greeting.
Should be nice today. Don’t think I’ll get to a run, after work, as we’ll be kept late– or, no.. we have a wine club event tonight, I’m pretty sure. Maybe I should shoot for a morning run [morrow]. Would love to be in that habit. Tonight: isolationist. Finally clearing, cleaning, desk, and writing. Actually, the thought of drinking any wine tonight, bringing any uncomfortable state tomorrow morning, makes me anxious. I shouldn’t plan, just see how all sings to me.
Posting the piece I gathered over the last couple days, ‘Copper Hours’, when I get home. Makes me think of that 1,000 word piece I wrote one day, after working at the box, the one I called “Tremor’d Lecture.” Remember Carl saying, “Yeah, I noticed you wrote in fiction.. not sure how I feel about that.” Such a mud muscle. Think I do need a little coffee, be back…
-Buy print cartridge for tonight’s printing.
Changing my mind about coffee. Don’t want to tremor in my inner lectures, today. Steadiness, key. Dinner tonight, something I wouldn’t usually do [probably Monti’s]. Wine, something I wouldn’t regularly open.. maybe that Cab Fran Katie gave me. What’s on the Monti’s menu these days? […] Too much to list. And I don’t want to plan. No plans. That’s not poetic. That’s responsible, inartistic. All about tonight, whim’d
Chords, breezed.. more ease–
revolutions in fern gullies, for
Ramble, cook it, serve
rare. Lay in sentence blanket