2:08pm, didn’t get on earlier flight.
So, new writing spot. Down way from the C gates.
People all around me, hard to concentrate. When I board, I will have been here for a bit over 8 hours,,, airport writing.
Oh my jesus, look at how tall this beer is. Looks taller than the last. Sip slow, I tell myself.
Message, asking how my flight was. Communicate I didn’t get on the earlier one, then another conversation, and another…
Thinking about silence,.. consolidation and singularization, simplification again. Ignoring some people and what they say, their reactions. Feel an end to certain dimensions approaching. An end to … I don’t know. Realizing characters, HUMANS, change. Myself included. What do I do with that, I don’t know.
Writing in Seattle, the airport, and certain voices in Sonoma still able to reach me. So change that, tell myself. I do, will, did. Just now. Live here, on page, in new café, like Hemingway. Imagine the day where I have a cabin like the character in Secret Window… away from noise, humans, traffic, bad music.
Older… 43 next year. My oldest will be 10. Emmie 6 in less than 60 days… Time continues assault.