Up at 7:00 without a clock to rouse me--I only learn the time when I hit the kitchen post-shower for breakfast. I meet a spider next to the toilet, see the shadow of another artist retreating around the bend, and share granola with a poet who checked in the same afternoon as I did.
Otherwise, it's me, my pen and stack of paper (I've decided to tackle this venture long-hand, no typing, no screens, no email, no proof-reading, no backtracking, no second guessing)...and...yeah...
I have freckles from the sunshine, but no tan yet; sand between my toes, but no calluses on my soles; a few short-short stories but nothing to write home about (yes, that is a dreadful pun), and a 9 p.m. bedtime that makes me feel like I am six.
Later, I describe the day to a friend, who suggests I must have been lonely. Really? Not at all.
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