I don't know why. I can't write at home. I've never been able to. I'm easily distracted by what I'm too familiar, I suppose. For years, I've written outside of my home, mostly in cafes. I've spent thousands of dollars, no doubt, since I was an undergrad reading/writing/doing homework in cafes. And that's probably really dumb, although I can feel proud about supporting my local small businesses. The story I'm writing today has to do with someone opening a cafe in Provo, and students using it to work in. Clearly, I'm obsessed.
I also don't like going back to the same cafe, for fear the staff will tire of me? Not sure.
This morning, I wrote morning pages on the bench outside of Organic Avenue and drank the above pictured turmeric elixir.
Later, after doing this YouTube yoga video (good narrative, good lighting, no distracting crashing waves, and not too easy or hard! I recommend!):
I took my computer to the New Museum lobby pictured below. After I wrote for awhile, my kid showed up and we took in their new exhibit. Tonight there's a member's party to which I've been invited. I'm not going, however, because all guests are required to wear white (it's called White Party)--and "festive white," and I don't own a single thing in white, let alone festive . . . other than my boxed up wedding dress which is hundreds of miles away. All those white clad guests will look luminous against all the white art and video streams, however.
|This quinoa and dark chocolate cookie promised to be better than it was.|