I awaken from a slumbering sleep, which feels like stumbling at times because I keep tripping over memories while I am trying to create something at the same time. Connections with real and fantasy. I am not sure which is real or fantasy and my mind will work through them during the day. Some become stories or bodies of other work I am doing. I bathe, dress, do dishes because I have learned someone is always going to leave some behind because they were too hard for them to do. I will then make breakfast which can be anything between a frittata or cold cereal. Today it was leftover cold pizza with orange juice. I had coffee on the side but an unwelcome guest, an elm bug, decided to take a bath, and I didn’t see it until I began to sip it, and nearly choked. I dumped it out and cursed, why can’t the little f…ks bring their own damn cups. I gathered my things to write or draws. It is not really a difficult task because I have them in a bag for me each day as I leave. My greatest risk will be if I leave my keys and have to ring the door bell until I awaken someone to unlock the door so I can retrieve them. It has happened a couple of times.

I pulled weeds on my way out to the car and again after I put my things inside. Then I open the gates and close them again after I pull my car out. Then I drive three and a half miles to my favorite coffee shop, where the baristas smile at me, and call me by name, or another nickname they have given me, like “Blue eyes” or “Smiley”. One or two do call me “Dear” or “Honey.” It really is a friendly place. If I can keep from distracting myself, it is a good place to write.