En Fin

We grow tired. Life on the road is exhausting, and there's still so much work to be done. Still, we sit in the sunshine on the Place in Nice, drinking coffee and frenetically writing ideas, and we know how blessed this life is. This is our job, now, and it would be ridiculous to complain about any bit of it.

I look through images on my computer, pictures uploaded only a few days ago. I had already forgotten how beautiful that place was. Already, vineyards, cobblestones, wine bottles, melt into one another and I can't distinguish one from the other. If the life is privileged, the responsibility is to always appreciate it.

We buy a bottle of red, a selection of smelly cheese and smoked meats, and retire to our room. Saturday night on the Côte D'Azure, our greatest luxury is a quiet night in. If this is life, now, I think I can live with it. In the end, after all, I don't know what the alternative would be.

Sinking into Sweet Uncertainty

Another cup of coffee, and another. All day, so tired, so apathetic, so unable to fill the empty sheet with the words that would pay the bills, would appease the Very Important Person on the other end.

Patience, said a voice within. Trust that it will return.

And then there it was. The tickled rush through my synapses, the insatiable hunger for loud music in my ears, the complete disregard for anything going on around me. How much easier when the rest of the world grows dark and silent, to spread out one's ideas and energies on the floor and begin to piece them together again. Hours pass, without food or break or weariness as the deadline adrenaline writes its story, as it will. Years of this, and I never learn. Not to do differently, but to accept the process.

There is, at the end of such a night, a feeling more delicious than any other. The free soul, the tired body. The quiet room while my mind races to wind down. I enjoy this bit the most.

I chose the right life for myself, it seems.