Early morning for the Nurse and I.  She needing to be at some conference, committee she’s on, early.  And at a different campus.

Me getting home and drafting something I need send later.  Not letting it distract me from writing…. From building.  Singularizing.

Coffee on the mind.  The coffee place down the Road and … no, staying here.

Thinking of that Nurse fiancee of mine.  What’s in her mind when she drives to the hospital or one of the admin buildings or clinics or whatever to do a mod or seminar.

I’m fascinated by her, and our life together – Nurse and Professor.  Can’t help it.  How she is one way, and this air-headed writer boy, as she used to call me lovingly and to see rise from her scribbling garçon.

Me, back home. Drafting something I need to send later—important, maybe, maybe not, but important in the way a leaky dam is important: it can wait until you hear the first cracks, then you scramble.

But is it that, I ask myself?  Am I making too much out of some things?  Am I letting others put my mind at an unnecessary level of emphasis and importance concerning some events?

I think about it all.  Not ignoring the dam, but because there is no fucking crack.  The dam is self-set and prescribed.

My own behavior, my focus today.  And I just gavel that, here at the Vacaville desk.  

Coffee on the mind.  Coffee ALWAYS. 

That coffee place close by—some vibrant siren whispering promises smooth crema and secondhand chatter—but no, not today.  Keeping this writer HERE.

…ghosts of sentences half-written, piston language type-machine of my head screaming for more throttle.  Coffee stays fantasy, ink becomes the drug.  Feel the walls watching me, grinning, waiting to see if I’ll blink first.

This is no morning. This is war.