Week in the Life | Three

English 202 // 04

S U N D A Y

Inside Starbucks: An ever-changing community of strangers who share tabletops and wifi. 

M O N D A Y 

Mondays Consists Of:
Morning coffees. Going 70 mph in a 60 mph zone. French music. Messy hair + ball caps. 

T U E S D A Y 

I picked up the little book on the table and flipped through its pages. Soft, smooth, and glossy. All the hard work of people's efforts paid off. Published in a bounded publication. As I flip through to one of the last pages, I recognize a small poem, one that I wrote when I was a different me. My poem got published. I got published. I'm a published poet and I didn't know it.
I guess there is a first time for everything.

W E D N E S D A Y 

(still kind of in aftershock of yesterday)

T H U R S D A Y 

I think I’m getting sick. I can feel it. It’s making it’s way from the inside, out. Starting down in the crook of my throat and the gut of my stomach. Working it’s way to my legs, neck, shoulders, and my head -- sore and fatigued. I need some rest.

F R I D A Y

Somedays I like to sit in my bed and pretend to be a literary sophisticate who lives in Paris and writes for a living. Today was that kind of day. 

S A T U R D A Y

You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey. 
Today's rhythm.