::appetites::

My fourth full day of this writing retreat and I have just had to swim out against the tide of hours of writing. Soon, I will duck back in, begin swimming back to the pull of the maelstrom I've been bobbing and stroking in.

From the pumphouse I can see a squirrel in the tree, pulling at a branch. I've just eaten lunch; my appetite has been bizarre since the first day of my extended trip to the Pacific Northwest which began nine days ago. From bar to bar in Olympia, Washington, to the Ivar's at the Mukilteo Ferry, to this place, where lunches are packed for us and dinners are served every evening--it has been a dream. And still, my appetite is perhaps caught in some weird limbo, as though I'm trying on a new version of myself because, on this experience, I feel different, for lack of a better word (many of the words, I think, are still back out in that maelstrom, reserved for another piece of writing looming large). The transformation is underway. I hope to be able to write about the food once I get back to the rhythms of Los Angeles.