On My Own

Marianna left for the airport early this morning – she knocked on my door and said goodbye briefly. I bid her bon voyage and went back to sleep, finally dragging myself out of bed around noon. One cure for jetlag: sleep late and stay up late. It’s like you never left home. I spent most of the day reading rather than writing, not even motivated to eat or drink anything, just expanding into this space that will me mine for the next few weeks, enjoying the lonliness.

I just put on a CD from my host’s collection, a band whose name I don’t understand singing songs I don’t understand the lyrics to, but the music itself carries a sadness that augments my mood well. This is going to work. I’ll be writing late into the night, I can tell, but I suspect it will be The Fish rather than my NaNoWriMo effort, already so far behind. You have to write with the vibe (or at least I do), and a thriller isn’t were my head is right now. Although a novel needs to shift geard now and then. Maybe I can write a couple chapters for November as well. Whatever the case, I should be writing one of those things rather than this.

I hope all is well over on the other side, where the sun is still shining and you are all looking for diversions from your work. I’m only too pleased to be of service.