Can’t wait to be home, in the loft.  Light dinner, little wine, then bed. 

I need to catch up on sleep—  Think they fucked up the latte, no cinnamon.  Whatever.  No time to take it back.  The city today, lit up by the sun and inviting me again to look closer, feel more. 

I’ll give myself till 1:30.  Didn’t start the timer, shit….  So tempted to leave early, but I have that meeting.  I miss running, tomorrow I’m running.  I swear.  Just 5k.  Usual route maybe with a little mod…. The tired today more heavy than yesterday’s.  And no singular word.  Was thinking ‘escape’ a bit ago but it didn’t stick like the other words.  So I force it to…. Escape this exhaustion, boredom, frustration with certain people.  Procrastination, escaped that habit.

Nearly temped away from this LL, two co-workers going to lunch at the deli down the street.  Nearly went, but had the sushi from last night, and some sparkling water so no hunger and no truancy of page.

I have nothing.  The tired is winning.  People walking by on their lunches, no pressures of being a writer and holding ourself to a word count.  This is good for me though, this patter and renewed practice.  Writing about wine tonight, and the two I tasted last night.  Just noted something else about myself, my writing way… not needing for too many details like people’s names, or too many specifics with movement, or taste.  Being general, a bit vague.  There’s beauty to that, I’m finding.