incommunicado

I’m a good place right now, savoring the down time before big work kicks in and getting by with a handful of freelance jobs. Every morning I wake early–at 7, earlier than I ever wake up, trying to reprogram myself as a morning person (HA HA)–and swim laps in the neighborhood pool, cool even with the sun beating down. I eat salads with vegetables from the local farm and go to yoga classes that leave me feeling dampened and unrolled. I am writing and writing every day, easing my stories into place, brick by brick. It’s so hard, but so worth it. I am trying to not think about what I am going to do with this book, if/when/how it will be “finished,” what happens next. Everything will work itself out. At night I go out to meet friends and picnic in the park, drink on rooftops, escape the city for beach trips. There is free music in the city every night. I ride home past the shipyards’ stillness, creaky bike wheels turning against the shadows, and shower off the heat.

July melts into August and the summer is already too long and so tragically short and not anywhere close to being long enough.