Setting up the bunker

I have the water bottle, thermos full of coffee, telephone, telephone charger, commercial fan at the window, Tascam, computer, nail file, music, inspiration and no distractions (my last possibility of romantic love is off to clown school where he's not allowed visitors). The weather is mildly gummy, my hair is tightly braided and cannot poof up. I have cleaned my bedroom and put the keys on the chicken on the wall for hanging such things, the rent is paid and I can write sad love songs in peace. I have 9 hours to ruminate, feel, exhaust every iota of self, pour out my heart and talk to no one but myself and the radio. Then, tonight, I'm off to work for the happy immigrants.