I am exhausted. I stayed awake too many hours last night - coffee and chocolate wired me open to the darkness. I patiently waited for a sleep that hardly came and then passed as soon as it started. Then, sitting in an airport in the morning, then on a plane, floating among clouds and dreams half awake and half clouds. This all might make sense if I was coherent in mind. My spirit has scampered away into the recesses of a mind that cannot focus on this moment. Only six more hours of work, if I can stand it. And all to show for this day is this little ditty, my little ink blot.
There is a certain energy that winds through the office near happy hour on Friday late afternoon, like the feeling of the last few minutes of school before summer break. The work is done for the week, the bags start to pack with computers and pens and notebooks, and people start to smile again. Sometimes, there is actual laughter in the office.
Outside, the sun is shining in San Francisco today. The bay sparkles something special, if one can avoid the snarled traffic painting the bridges. For me, this is no worry - I walk home, through the Financial District and down Columbus Street through the middle of North Beach. I know I am close to home when I hear the Powell-Taylor cable car clanking down the hill, last stop headed for Fisherman's Wharf at the base of Bay Street.
Now, it is Friday late afternoon; my bag is packing with its own pens and notebooks (soon, computer too). I am smiling as well. I can feel happiness soon to think of the sun at my back walking past Vesuvio ...
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