Exhale.

I stink of cigarette smoke and the ghost of last night's beer. There's a touch of whiskey there, I'm sure; I drank one glass and had the second spilled on my left arm by someone who'd had much the same line of thought in regards to drinking.

Drinking is an exorcism; it's certainly my favorite way to remove spirits from someone's house or business.

I try to think back to last night and realize that I wind up looking forwards; mental mirrors reflecting what's yet to come. It's not a refusal to dwell on the past, per se, as I'm trying my damndest to dwell. I don't seem to have much of a desire or need to, and that's as pleasant a surprise as any.

My ears still ring. Ghosts of sounds, monitors at that perfect volume where I can snatch a single instrument out of the wall of sound without losing the bigger picture. The roar of crowds. Hollers of 'cheers' and glasses clinking, conversational murmurs. Singing.

Singing along to the music.

It's a good feeling to know that some folks have taken words you had a part in putting together and committing them to memory. They've listened enough to have taken part of the song in. Music's a shared experience.

And now I'm drinking wine. When it comes to wine the glass is always half-empty, mostly because I've drunk the other half. The sun is setting slowly, hanging low and pregnant over a forest halfway between great towering buildings stretching up past clouds, reaching as hard as they can for God.

This day is full of ghosts. Phantom whispers, long-past moments played over and over in my head. Most happy, some melancholy. All bittersweet, much like the wine.

The sun's gone now, and now the ghost of light lies across the sky in shades of copper and rose and bruise-purple. Some folks will start to think about lying down while others get ready to leave and not return till sunrise. That'll come, too, hopefully -- I want very much to compare this dusk to a dawn. I'd imagine that will come with its own hauntings. In a way, they remind me -- dawn and dusk and memories and phantoms and all -- that I've done well. I've been lucky, and there's no point in slowing down now.

I welcome all the ghosts.

Focus.

A lesson in writing.

Have your chosen writing implement of choice. Some prefer a pencil, some a very certain kind of pen, others a laptop or keyboard. Typewriter. Clay tablets. The sky.

Stare at something. Walls are good for this because we are nearly constantly surrounded by them. Stare at a wall. If you're outdoors, simply rethink your definition of 'wall.' It shouldn't take long before you're feeling mildly claustrophobic in the great outdoors.

Take a sip of coffee. Take another, longer sip of coffee. Coffee is important for this; tea is an acceptable substitute depending on your culture and upbringing. It should be in a mug at least. Sometimes it can be whiskey. Don't serve whiskey hot.

Take a deep breath. Do not do so while you take a sip of coffee. This will end poorly.

Now don't think. You've done all your thinking before, when you're on the way to your job or caught in the middle of a long grocery line when you really just needed some eggs, when you're staring at a wall and you realize that there's someone who hasn't been in your life for a very long time and you deeply regret that. You've already thought about the fact that the person you miss isn't real, not anymore. Time passes and people change. You aren't the same, and they certainly aren't either.

Think about the uncomfortable sense you have that your days are so rote as to be interchangeable. Think about the fact that because you have thought this you have marked this day as unique. Think about the fact that thinking about thinking about the facts might just be another element of your rote days. Contemplate the definition of meta. Realize you miss the feel of a lover's skin under your fingertips. Realize that your fingertips are in contact with a writing implement.

Take a long sip of coffee. 

Realize that it's a beautiful day. It may be storming, or oven-hot, or grey-cold, or night. Realize that the state of time and weather is irrelevant. Realize that it has been a beautiful day for a very long time. Contemplate the definition of beauty. Do not contemplate the definition of day.

There is noise. Tune it out, listen closely to it, or replace it with whatever noises you in your godlike capabilities feel compelled to conjure. 

Think about all the people in your life. Think about people who aren't in your life. Create people in both categories. Make them want things. Make them do things. Make them take long sips of coffee. Take notes.