It is too early. I am drinking some coffee in a Starbucks waiting until it is late enough to go into the office. It’s raining. It’s not a complaint, rain in December is as pleasant a deviation from the norm as a cool breeze in August. The coffee has an uphill battle to wage this morning in order to bring me back to life. I’m annoyed by my own inarticulate ness, and the inability to pick up and dive back into the David Foster Wallace story I started half a semester back. It is exactly these moments, where time is at your disposal that the grinding complexity of daily life takes its toll. So I’ll sit here and have a bit of a think, and come to no particular conclusion at all. I am envying myself in all those other moments, too rushed to set down a line, much less a paragraph. I’m letting them down- all those orphaned ideas and phrases, and I know it. But it’s so early. Soon, when it seems late enough finally- I’ll go into the office.
A. No one now. We are our own creatures, free as water.
A. There is nothing to be said, no words at all to be spoken. Only in the silence visited upon us do we reflect in the glass that is our glass.
A. Lips shut as a preliminary test. For additional exploration, the guidebook is not yet written.
A. Untie the string around your finger, sit in the comfiest spot on the couch, pull the blanket over your knees and sink into memory.
A. Endless drinks of water and wine, effervescent laughter, and a firm grip.
A. That they are high wire walking malcontents, never to be trusted when flat-footed on solid ground.
A. Let it crack. The good parts will hold, and if it is a bad job, let it shatter. There is no gluing back together the vital things.