We Always Eat
Coconut Oatmeal Cookies
Tinned Salmon Salad
I sit, have sat, with anemic thoughts. We always eat, but I cannot always write. If only my thoughts—how I translate, from synapse to fingertip—could be as prolific as my appetite.
Three sentences, now four, and distraction has me reaching and stuttering for...a complete thought.
I must release myself to the trenches. Whistle while I work. Make lists. Run through lists. Mark things off the list, lists.
Resistance is futile.