Right now it's a nice 11:45am, I'm sipping some french press and watching my window. My room is freshly empty from my friend sleeping over, as we had quite the late night yesterday out and about. We started the morning slow, quietly making breakfast: cheesy scrambled eggs and air fryer fries, plus the aforementioned coffee. As much as I love home, living with friends here is such a wonderful thing.

Yesterday afternoon, I had a phone call with a friend from home who's now in Montreal (I wanted to give him the good news that I'm visiting next month), and we reflected on writing habits together. He's currently studying creative writing and is making his own chapbook. It makes me immeasurably happy to see my friends pursuing their own creative goals, and also makes me question whether I'm truly following my own goals.

I have barely written at all since I've gotten to school, and sincerely think I'm suffering to some extent for it. Not truly suffering, but my mind feels a bit clunkier for sure. I find that when I'm writing, writing, writing, my mind is much quicker as I'm more in the practice of reflecting on everything as it happens. The most writing I've done has been for my zine, but 1000 words does not a writer make.

Today, once I push myself out of bed, I'm going to go trade zines with some zinester acquaintances, and I'm hoping the new zines will strike me with that lightning bolt of inspiration I need. Until then, I'll keep on sipping my coffee, keep on watching the canal boats go by.