Details

I don't know. I sit at my desk and listen to the man upstairs walk back and forth, apparently to turn his music up and then down, over and over again. There is also the sound of planes, some lower than others, and the smell of fried chicken. Lately, I find myself a student of myself, writing using the five senses because I ask my students to write with more detail. More detail. Why? So it is harder to forget? This morning I did not go to work, and instead read through some old writings written during a time I can't seem to ever get out of my head. Too many details still sit in me, and I can still taste the Toasted Head, can still see the green suede, can still smell the baby powder, can still hear the smearing of ink, and can still feel the no longer there. My hands are cold and a little shaky. My life has moved on, and vagueness is easy to forget, I tell my students, so it is better to write with details, to observe with details, to understand and feel with details. It is better for a writer. It is better for a writer.