Bacon Coffee Pink Moon Warm Island Jitters

I've gone through three French presses of coffee this morning, and my fingers are so jittery it's hard to type. The house is cold. That adds to the general shakiness no doubt.

3,500 words before noon. I had to force myself to stop. It's best not to exhaust yourself and have nothing to say.

Jess came down to talk to me. I find it so hard to talk to people after I've been writing. All I can do is say hmm and yep but don't expect much more than that.

I found two cd's I'd been looking for yesterday, so that's a good sign as well. Not knowing where they were would probably, shamefully, get to the point where I'd lose sleep over it. But they were found and now there are only a small handful of beloved cd's I haven't been able to find and rip to my collection, the most notable being Pink Moon. I don't have any heavy need to hear that now, so I'm off the hook. Plus, it gives me time to listen to the Nick Drake material I never had much time for, some of it awful, but some of it making me wonder why I didn't pay much attention to it on the first or second listen.

I have my ipod plugged in to the speakers on top of the refrigerator. The sound is tinny and distant, but that's good for now.

Jess is off delivering the Dufflebag to his father. She'll be home soon. We have a long day ahead. You know what I want to do? I want to escape with her to a warm desert island. If that is out of the question, I'll settle for the plans previously made. But I'm hoping that once the novel is done a warm desert island is in the plans. I'm reaching a point with the novel where I feel threadbare and a little drained. It's been the focus of my thoughts since October, or thereabouts, and I've been living with it since before the winter came. In fact, I've been taking notes for over a year, and even began an early draft last spring that I ultimately abandoned. This is a long time to spent whittling away with the imagination. It has its effects.

I've been working since dawn, but am finally feeling hungry. I think there are a few strips of bacon left over, and maybe some bread. A humble repast! Monkish delights!

I shall investigate.