13 minutes, 13 minutes to sit and find something to say, something interesting through the early morning eye blur. Find words, put them on “paper,” make up, then work, 13 minutes to describe a moment, a feeling. To find a flash of inspiration. To make these words come out less sluggishly, like wading through quick sand, to connect to the world, 13, Friday 13th, sign of things to come? Or just the vestiges of last night’s pair of beers, dancing like no one was watching, and the late night to early morning rise? Somewhere from within this sleeping body needs to awaken energy, enough for two hours of motivated teacher time, a feat that at 7am seems almost impossible. Why sit here if the effort seems unbearable? Because the pleasure in the routine and the act outweighs the pain of doing. Maybe not today but tomorrow or the…
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aanasada 