Couple of scripts to finish today, and a phone conference on a tv thing. I see at least six cups of espresso in my immediate future. And not as many cigarettes as I would like. And plant matter. Because that’s where we are, on this end of the life cycle. I should also walk, but it’s fucking cold and I have two scripts to finish. And a book to read, actually, to write a foreword for. And listen to an album a band sent me. And also there’s another Scott Tuma I haven’t heard yet. Because I’m still alive in a world where there are new Scott Tuma records to listen to. Just another day on Earth, but there are still fine cups of espresso and great albums and excellent new books, every time the sun comes up.

Shitty as it sometimes gets, as ordinary and empty as the hours can be, the systems of the world usually conspire to produce a reason to get out of bed. Another day on Earth is entirely good enough.

And now, to work in the fields of the word.

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