puses

It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another? Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new. It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite. Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function. Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed to right me without us losing a step and I smiled my thanks. argh! I’ve got to get out of my head. Later, in class, lulled by the comfort of the stiff, wooden chair, my eyes unfocused and the professor’s voice seemed to fade into the backdrop. Suddenly, he was asking me a direct question that seemed almost without context. Metaphorically slapped back into focus, I scanned the room and the whiteboard for clues before awkwardly—walking the edge of catastrophe—I bluffed it out, because, well, I’ve an instinctive reluctance to admit defeat with any sort of grace. I didn’t sleep well last night. I had dreams—nothing with a defined purpose–just an amalgamate of bonfires and storms in a coastal scrubland with an odor of fresh cedar and a sense of casual vulnerability. My attention today is like an intermittent pulse. . . Songs for this: Headz Gone West by Nia Archives Dark Red by Steve Lacy