I don’t have the crutch of that little red wir-o bound book to type from today.
Today, I don’t have anything to copy to ON-LINE from my own handwriting and ink and paper that I bought for two-dollars-ninety-eight-cents [before tax].
I just have my bubbling thoughts inside my own little head to translate directly.
I don’t know why I never do this anymore. I guess I’ve just gotten used to the flow of my hand with ink on paper inside red, jotted quick in between classes, cross-leg-seated on a brown suede couch, or scribbling in the dark when I can’t fall asleep for a churly mind.
Now there are none of those things present. I’m pretty still. I’m pretty steady. I don’t have anything clawing my mind or my fingers; nothing anxious to be released.
So this is what I have to say today.
Peace of mind.
It’s worth it.
It’s nice to be streaming from this place of relative rest, just for a few hours or even days, if I get lucky. Just a few days to think slow, eat a lot of sugar cookies, type slow, savor things like fudge and Art Tatum and a beautiful pearl necklace from the love of my life.
It’s nice to have room in my brain for dreams; I remember them a lot lately.
Last night: Kaylie and I weren’t close friends, she was telling me stuff I felt like I should already know about where she’d been--Garrett was mandating I do something or other--my apartment was in the back room of Jamba Juice, but looked exactly the same--Faith was asking me questions about Jared and I had a million answers.
My subconscious still has a lotta stuff to sort through.