I have been carrying my moleskine journal around with me, as I said I would. And I wrote an entry in it the other night, that I was going to post here.
But today, as you might expect, I don't have it with me.
Somewhere between unpacking yesterday's stuff from my bag, packing today's stuff, and moving a pile of junk from one place to another, the notebook has disappeared. Not that it matters a whole lot.
My confusion over San as abated to a degree. I don't *have to* feel anything, I remind myself -- I just have to enjoy her company, and enjoy it more than anyone else's. Just like I told her when we got back together last time. And things have settled for me emotionally there.
Last night a quick drink with my class mates after a meeting of the city council turned into an all night drinking session, getting in at around 2. I was told by a guy on my course at one point that I looked "wonderfully dishevelled, like a romantic poet".
A couple of people made references to poetry to me, which makes me wonder who knew about my comments in my intake interview where I described myself as more of a frustrated poet than a frustrated novelist. Who knows.
Either way, I know there's an open mike poetry night towards the end of the month in a bar we like to go to, and have actually written my first new piece in about two years. It needs work, I expect, since I was drunk when I wrote it -- but it's about time I wrote something new.
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