Wake at 1:15, up, back to sleep, wake at 4:15 same reason, sit up dopily, up to stay. Coffee in an old plastic mug, blue velvet chair by the window bayside, what? Same green light flashing as always and ever.
Much less inspiration, lacking inclination to write. Open spider solitaire and easily finish a game that last night was impossible. Think. Nope. Wordsmith concludes the week with scabrous. Jiminy Christmas, a week’s worth of words exactly tailored to fit my being: scurvy, apoplectic, jaundiced, metastasize, scabrous. Think. Nope. The window frames total soft blackness with just that one green light tormenting me from, what? two miles away and across eternity. Think. Still nope. Tap icon for favorite comic strip, not the favorite, just one of half a dozen favorites: Candorville. Lemont is talking with his nutty psychiatrist about his relationship with his son Lionel.
Not sleepy last night so opened and read three or four chapters of All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr. A novel, perfect to my taste, gripping, short chapters. Marie, a little blind girl in Paris as the bombs begin to fall, alternating with Werner, and his sister Jutta, German orphans with wild, white-blond hair. Each chapter is but a page or two: I can read a bit at a time and hope it never ends.
Cardio this morning, Chuck’s Shop. Do I look forward to it? The mind isn’t working, I look forward to nothing but looking out over my Bay.
Light in the eastern sky to the south, and a boat heading out. Bow light and red port light just the other side of my empty coffee mug. Now orange stripes between the gray.
+Time with Tom+