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.