Sunup and I am feeling nearly myself again. Nervous about everything, sleepless by early morning, full of work, lazy. Haven't had tea yet, for instance. That would require making it. Instead, I sit here catching up with you at your place. --Hold on a sec. Glenda's made coffee, it's done, I can hear it. She's next door feeding the gecko. Hold on while I steal her coffee.
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Spent yesterday pulling writing from my posts that might become something more sustained, the dreams, the essay-poem sequences, the early vulnerable stuff I wrote out when no one was hanging around this workspace, the Annunciation notebook entries. I'm sure most of you would cull reams of writing, or do; as it is, I've got about eighty pages to slash through, most of it not useful, but with any daily notebook there will be daily unfinished work. So I am going back to add finish, as I'd always meant to do. One long poem-essay somewhere here. A sequence. It may become its own book, in time. Think so?
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