Zocalo

Out with my sister, today, at her coffeshop in San Leandro. Good coffee, crowded, but comfy, not bad music. Comfy feeling overall.

Not so with me. I’m feeling like I’m playing hooky, ditching a staff meeting while I wait for someone to look at my car. And I’m too stressed out to want to write. But ya gotta do it anyway, right? That’s the whole thing about writing. The first word is the hardest.

And I can’t even find words for my procrastination writing. That’s not a good sign. Maybe I’ll just go and edit something. I feel like red pen and thick black lines crossing things out.

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