Ten.Five Hundred & Forty-Eight
The alarm. That sleep felt really short.
I search for the book of poetry in the dark and grab the big jar of water. Why hasn’t the first email sent? That’s weird. I’ll just manually send it now.
The computer says 2:54 AM. That can’t be right. The microwave says it too. Damn phone. How did I not realize that it was 3 hours ahead?! Well, ok. No wonder sleep felt so short.
Coffee. Pound cake. Still the smell of burnt cheese.
Duncan Sheik, “Barely Breathing.”
More photography videos. A lunch of marcona almonds, salami, white cheddar, a ripe bosc pear, a small glass of Pinot Noir.
Turns out you can also read puddles.
He asks me if I made the sauce or the sauce. I didn’t. We all can tell.
The three of us cuddled up on a twin-size bed watching Alfred Hitchcock.
A good first day. There’s something about writing in community that I have missed.