I hate watching the minutes wind down to work and there is that obligation to go in or else! And while I try to wake up within myself for a new day, I notice that impatience. I become highly aware of the time. Ask me and I’ll give an approximation that it is 5:07, 3:43, and so on, and usually I’m not that far off.
I love every minute of time I have for myself. I love pacing myself throughout the day when my time is with them. There are some days, of course, when things are not all at peace, are out of sync, problematic, buggy. Label these in your head and keep going.
. . .
What I like least in reading Dostoevsky is his “society” ladies. How utterly boring they are, and yet a novelty in their own right, how their bizzar natures fascinate.
We don’t run. We are the species
that photographs trains wrecking
slid from the tracks
a spotted past
read a book and read into your head (people mag. is not the same)
the smirk on her beautiful face
where there is understanding
and it is all
none of yours
but now it is
these are ernest notes
where – it is true –
the amount of time
we pry into each other