Occasionally, the silence becomes deafening. It becomes an invading, pulsating entity, a presence completely separate from the surrounding atmosphere, and it disrupts me.
When that happens, I go to one of two spots: if it is during the day, I find my way to a local Mexican place and have a couple sangriàs, some chips, and guacamole, eavesdrop on conversations from other tables, and scribble happily away in my notebook. If it is at night, I pop over to a bar on the lake, find a corner table, and submerge into the chaos.
Last night was one of those nights when the silence descended and chased me from my home. And it was perfect. I enjoyed a drink and tossed off several pages of text.
Productivity feels good. And now I can sleep … at 2am. G’night, lovelies!
My beloved spiral notebook, my oversized bag (chosen for its ability to accommodate said spiral notebook), a gin and tonic, and my hot pink pen.