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The stresses of the morning outweigh the senses.  Presently, anyway.  Wouldn’t be this way if I’d risen at 4.  By meditation 100, I will be in that habit.  Nowhere to inside write, so I’m on the patio by the drive-through order station.  Already certain nothing ravishing will be written here.  Out here on this patio, I mean.

People talking around me, Alice about to get here with Emma in her stroller and interruption after interruption.  If I woke at 4 to write, I’d be touching keys by 4:05, latest.  Giving me over 90 minutes for self, for collection.