Writing as exercise. Therapy? Just whatever... just write. Doesn't have to make sense. Waldo barks. What sense does that make? A car horn toots. Daniela rushes out the door. Clouds hover. Baseball. News. Coffee. No stopping. Don't stop the keyboard, that is. Exercise the fingers. The mind. Not whatever, something. Some words. Any words. Beautiful. Ugly. A cloudy day after a beautiful day. A film, The Partner. It all goes by. Stories. A few remembered, most forgotten. A sip of coffee. Not particularly good coffee. Need to do something about that. Coffee in the morning should be superlative. The leaves are turning, falling. More apples. For eating, for carrot juice. For pies. And work. Not the apples. New words, dumb words. Put them together, mix them up. Up and down, back and forth. Big and small. What's going on here? A to do list. Can't remember so well. Run errands. Walk errands? Get blood taken. Routine. We hope. Why any of this? Don't ask. It's Tuesday morning and we are just getting started. Correct. Correct? Communicate, read. Keep trying. Someday it will make sense. Ok, I got that out of my system. In the photo, a butcher stand in a market in Madrid. Now it's time to start thinking about being productive...
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