Ninety and Humid

Hottest day this summer. Sweating words all morning. And this, writing to you, is the first time today I’m touching the computer. Couchwork mostly: reading, plotting, replotting, rearranging index cards. A. says if you’re struggling with the ending then the problem’s in the beginning or middle. Solutions come in unlikely shapes. A slight change in terrain. A new metaphor for a relationship. Three words written in sharpie on a card propped up against the printer ░░░░ ░░░░░░░░ ░░░░░░. I must not forget.

Ice cream, cold showers, soda water. Shades drawn, box fan moved from bedroom to living room. And moved back. A soft fatigued urgency, the kind when you’re nearing deadline and meals and sleep become more intersitial. No time to think now, the words are already there. I just have to type them.

Two weeks (two weeks!)