The morning was frustrating, as far as writing. Like cycling uphill, as I put it to Jess. I managed to get some momentum going before I had to break to pick up the Dufflebag. After that, it was dishes and cat shit. Fifteen minutes of Steinbeck.
Off to teach at the academy.
I returned home, put on Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations, and started to work again. Five-thousand additional words added to the draft, all while marveling at Bourdain's take on the fading holdover restaurants of the New York before I was born. A good night. But one which left me hungry.
Maybe tomorrow should be a breadmaking day.
Yep. That's it. Baking bread changes everything.
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