. Oh boy I was some kind of restless last night. The kind of restless that makes you just want to give up on trying to sleep at all. But, a few hundred toss + turns later, I finally drift to dreamland.
. I wake with the beginning sentences of a writing assignment I thought I would never complete.
. Hello crescent moon. I see you looking soft-edged through the hazy sky. Crescent moon, you are my favorite.
. I suppose she is just trying to make me happy, but I’m not sure there is any going back. I’ve reached a level of disgruntledness that I rarely ever recover from. I throw out pounds and pounds of paper clutter from my office in hopes of feeling better.
. He’s an hour late. I’m so mad I can barely speak. I’m kind of afraid to, actually, because I’m not sure I can control the torrent of expletives that are wanting to be unleashed. I take the pizza boxes and storm away. This is not worth getting mad about, but anger issues are a real thing at this stage in my life.
. 9 food memoirs wait for me at the library.
. Here’s the thing: this is just a writing practice. An exercise to hone how I notice the world (outer & inner). A daily commitment (there’s that word again) to get me writing and flexing the ol’ creative muscles. It’s not meant to be anything else, but I love that there are people who enjoy it. Writing means nothing to me if it can’t be shared.
. If she was a food, she would be wine (my observation): full of depth + nuance. If I was a food, I would be pasta (obviously): saucy + complex.
. “Who run the world?”
. The app on my phone says I’m in my creative zone.
. “I think we all learn things about ourselves at the time when we are supposed to learn them.“
. Dan Wu, if you’re reading this (you’re not), thank you.
. A man yells at me as I leave the downtown library.