Geneva, at the hour of the wolf
I’m awake, governed by tides, my consciousness of the outside world reduced to an abstract certainty of mountains ranging beyond the windows.
My LIFT presentation is nominally ready to go, but is striking me as far too wordy. There was a time when I’d gotten my talks down to three words a slide, and sometimes one, and that was a good time; now the text is gnawing its way back across the screen.
Refine, refine, a voice in me says. I know it’s correct, and yet feel helpless to comply. The right words, the ones which imply all the rest – they aren’t coming.
Wake-up call in two hours.