it seems that professionalism is a tightening of our senses, sense perceptions, reception centers, and orifices.
i watched people in the train station walking as if on their way to a funeral - their faces drawn and anxious and i wondered if this affect was a simian-like mimicing or if each individual felt the kind of mood that his or her face reflected...
is it winter?
did we not all know it was coming?
i didn't expect it
the sun streams into my living room and bedroom
the comforter makes me forget in the middle of the night that
in the morning, i will be walking into an artic freeze
monday, thankfully, i will be in bed without any need to think of anything but my novel.
yes, the novel is still sitting on the shelf
and i will not have a dour look on my face on the train come this time next year or any year thereafter or now because today, yesterday, tomorrow and those days on which it felt that my heart would shatter from the cold were are will be beautiful perfect days because they're bits i've collected for