It is February 10, 2014. I am alive and well.

It feels like the trees have tipped south again. I am afraid of foliage laying on barren ground. Am I going to be able to write about myself for another 300 pages? Why would I want to do this? Is writing about the self the same as having a feeling of self importance? I don’t feel self important; I feel, curious. I’m not a writer who knows what I will write before sitting down. And in sitting down, it could be a good twenty minutes before I write a sentence and then get up to stretch. I find myself walking to the kitchen in search of water often. Is this a form of procrastination? I think not. I think it is a brief time in which I can let resonate the sentence or sentences I have just written. 

Thank you for your readership. Here’s toasting another day of inspiration.


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