I think that I talk too much. I get very excited and tell everyone who will listen the stories that I have quickly prepared and determined exciting. Exciting. Exciting. Exciting. And then it is hard to blog about them after they have been so worked, so expended. It is an indulgence that I take - all this excitement, as it is an indulgence for those who listen to me. Thank you.
It works better in spurts and in speed. A hit. A whiff. An attack! I was here and then there, I hit a low, I looked up, sparks, and an epiphany!
And now I have processed epiphanies: hard discs of biased me-ness.
It sounds better to tell you that I am in a cafe: Phil. Not Phil's. Phil. Non-smoking. Lots of retro lamps, all for sale. Lots of new and second hand books, all for sale. And a charming internet password: clapyourhands. And nice waiters. I got an herbal tea, but waited too long. The water got cold. And the tea didn't dissolve. I know, older siblings, I could send it back to be reheated. Or I could drink luke warm distantly flavored tea while feverishly using my rare internet time.
I've been a little sick. It has been lovely. I've let myself live the zen day I really needed. A quick dart out for a loaf of really dark brown crusty bread daring me not to be able to cut it. A long sh-bath. (The water never really gets hot enough for a bath in our antique tub with its own little heating tank hanging above to the right. I need to hold the shower head relatively close to my coffined body to get any sensation of warmth, and that, only one body region at a time. It's kind of really okay with me. I do bath exercises as well, still, Dan.) Homework.
The music in Phil is great. The other night, there was a DJ here playing only lounge music from 1960s America.