1. The writing style of an essay is creeping into my system already: it’s the language of adulthood, the currency of erudition.
2. The best stories, I told my son the other day, are the short ones because they have to squeeze in so much in very few pages. He didn’t look convinced about my case on the merits of short stories such as the book he’s reading – all 39 pages – and why he should read them, so I rambled, briefly, about the creativity in omission.
3. This morning I made two calls: one to fix an appointment schedule (3 minutes), another to find out what happened with a remittance gone awry (29 minutes and 58 seconds, including waiting time).
4. The other night I ran enraged about why I do what I do, so I ran without much of a plan – after accidentally leaving my water bottle at home, I had to limit myself to 30 minutes. During the run my head lit up in each kilometer, my synapses fired up again.
5. Years ago I wanted a laptop to be able to write. Now I wanted a separate device only for writing and reading another for working, and another for watching senseless crap…
6. This summer, we were greeted not by a flock of maya bobbing up and down the bamboo, but by the singsong greetings of olive-backed sunbirds in the morning, sipping the nectar of our pink tabebuia’s flowers.