BLOOD DRAWN—EIGHTEEN BOOMS BY IN A HEART BEAT

First thing this morning, in preparation for regular office visit next week, I hiked six miles round trip in chill mid-60s temps to the doctor's office for a blood draw. As usual, the phlebotomist had a hell of a time finding my tiny, deep veins. The phlebotomist looked for hidden veins of romanticism in the poet's bloody work. Two phlebotomists consulted and, after unsuccessful probing elsewhere, settled for taking the sample from the back of my right hand. 

Currently at Black Rock Coffee Bar where I rewrote Chapter Eighteen of Angie's Choice in less than two hours. I'm extremely encouraged. Puts me far ahead of the chapter-a-week schedule I set two weeks back. I'm completely recovered from last month's physical and psychological malaise. I do like the sound of that word, just as I enjoy hearing the word bureau in French, and the English pronunciation of schedule. 

Last night I attended open mic at the Tiger Lily Restaurant in Vancouver to hear Michael G. proclaim his work. You haven't lived until you've experienced Mike G. declaiming a poem. The spit flies, the tears flow. You find yourself carried along. Sometimes, he sings.