dangerous compassions

I call you / from the comet's cradle

Friday, August 14, 2015

olives and olive oil

Yesterday I drank a small quantity of Ming's coffee and was up half the night writing.  I was happy but knew there would be hell to pay.  But I feel fine today and am writing more.  I'm working on a new zine and am almost done with the first draft.  It's an alphabet zine, and I have u and y left.  And k.  I just finished f but am not satisfied with it.

It looks like there's going to be another monsoon today and the wind was blowing like crazy.  The sky was a strange color.  We went to the store for green olives and olive oil.  We ended up getting paper towels and toilet paper and laundry detergent too.

It's 3 and there's political prisoner letter writing night at 6, but I'm worried I didn't clear it with the manager and there will be another event happening and we'll be SOL.  I tried calling her at the store last night but she was too busy to talk.  So I couldn't ask her if it was okay.  Ten people said they'd come on facebook.  So that anxiety is piled on my usual event-related anxiety.

I ordered shoes online and they haven't arrived.  Meanwhile my old tennies are rubbing my heels raw.  So I'm living in flip flops and didn't walk this morning.  I just wrote like a banshee, if banshees wrote.  I didn't meditate either.


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