I woke up in Seattle this morning.
I like the feel of this city around me. The constant screaming of rubber on the blacktop of the interstate, which is only two blocks away from my hotel room balcony, is kind of soothing in its own way. The city wakes up early, and that suits a man who has trouble sleeping past 5am on most days.
I've been driving and sight-seeing and walking miles and miles so there hasn't been any writing done on this trip, but I think that's ok. I miss my bed and my routine and my lopsided desk, but that's ok too.
I expected to be guzzling coffee the whole trip, and I have, but it's been either the hotel-room standard or the French press, filled with the greasy black beans we bought before we left. It's good coffee, and it goes perfectly with the bagels and bananas we picked up at the grocery store.
Today, we go back home. That thought is both thrilling and kind of sad, which I guess is the point of a vacation. It'll be good to get back to writing, and I also need to curb the crazy eating that always happens when you are away from home.
Things I'm reading right now: a J.A. Jance novel, because I've never read her before-- a collection of Stephen King shorts, which I've read a couple of times already-- Tracy Sharp's Intruders which I wish I had written-- Injection comics, written by Warren Ellis, which I am behind on by at least two issues.
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