I’m writing from the coffeeshop, which I haven’t done in a while. A dude is trying to read over my shoulder. Yes, you, you right there at the table behind me with your earbuds so loud I can hear your Daughtry CD and with that unforch loud mouth-breathing. You.

That’s better. A little calling out never hurt.

I moved to the library. The coffeeshop had unforch music, the noisy dude behind me air-drumming and stomping and going bah-bah-BAH-bah it’s not oooooovAH try to bah-bah-bah-BAH-BAH-BAH time around, then there was the convo to my right about a bladder infection, the shrieking kids, the dirtbag staring at every woman in the place (3 including me), and I’d forgotten my earbuds to block out noise, so I suddenly had a terribly feeling in my chest child, you aren’t going to get shit done in here today.

So, I’m going to be in Madison tomorrow night, but not for a reading. I’ll scope-out reading spots, to be sure, but I’m just going to chill. Imagine that, Amy Guth, chillin’. I got up this morning and stirred around a bit and wore myself out and got all winded again. Whodathunk a little poke in the lung would be so unforch?? Not I, that’s for sure. I feel like such a wuss. Anyway, I’m not taking fitness attire or running shoes with me to Madison, so even if routine urge-to-move strikes, I have no choice but to chill.

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