I woke up this morning and drank so much coffee from an aluminum mug while sitting by the window from where where I could hear bird songs, from where I smell the midwestern springtime like I did from my grandmother's midcentury ranch in Cadott, Wisconsin, where when I was a small child I could look out and see nothing but clotheslines, rusted metal husks of cars, corn stalks for miles, and I would hear the train go by in the dead of the night, bringing the warm weather with it.
This morning I read the last forty pages of Nausea by Sartre (the best part of the book imo, the hilltop passage was so incredible), and I sat down to write my heart out for thirty minutes. Another wonderful morning in Chicago and the future is real and viable and most of all, worth discovering!
Gooood morning.