Finished another article, off-blog, and to sell. Today’s been a monster writing day so far, and my quaking composition momentum only surges forward, charges a firing line like it’ll never be hit, stopped or killed. Little Emma still behind me swings, but the house is quiet and I don’t very much like it— no Jack.
Will finish the lecture for day 1 of Spring, tonight. Or I’ll try— in fact I probably just cursed any chance of doing so since I said I would.
Alice on her way home but stopping at sbux first. Asked me if I wanted one and the writer declined. Want to get out of that habit, have my own in-house café. Why would I leave when the shop is here? Paris is here… the cup is full and I write like it is— 2016, ever-gorilla sentence surplus—