Scratched Stand, scribble

Running at 6:30am with Carmen, plus sipping a little ’11 SB, currently.  So no 3PAGESaDAY, today.  In tasting Room, main bar, for shift’s majority.  Still feel yesterday’s 6.31 mile run.  Missed this blog, honestly.  If I shoot for 3 pages everyday, wouldn’t that strip it of splendor?  Sipping…  Losing its voice, stature, this ’11.  Feel bad for it, a bit.  The heat today, more than I ever want to fold into notes.  Dreamed of a North Dakota winter: harshly white, blizzardly, blinding, surrounding ice.. trapped indoors, forced 2complete book, books.  AC just turned off.  How is it still turning on at this hour, 9:39p?

Can’t believe I missed the blog, writing for it?  Did I learn something?  No.  Just more confused.  But it’s beautiful.  Surprising Self, that’s Artistic.  Want to explore, go for some “extreme” hike, or travel.. blog the entire collective moment, then rack all “posts” into book–  Well wait, can’t I do that now?  Watching a murder investigation segment.  Genre, popping into head.  Don’t want to write for category at Barnes & Noble, for marketability.  But what if I did?  Maybe I’ll think about that on my run tomorrow morning, the earliest run I’ve assumed in.. well, ever.  Carmen said it’s about 4 miles.  Fine with me.  Yesterday was the last sizable sprint before the Foot Race, Thursday the 4th.

Am I crazy for going into work Thursday, after the race?  Yes.  Definitely.  That’s what writers do, though.  I, certainly, can be assigned CRAZY tag.  Want to see how the race influences my character.  And, to thicken day’s cyclical pivotal, I’m assigned to Reserve Room that day.  I’m getting older, I know this.  But I REFUSE[!!!] to tire, ever.  Running’s another counterassault I’ve opened agains Time.  Just finished the final SB pour, dumped bottle’s remainder into sink.  Should probably have some water.  Do I feel wine’s windings?  A little, but not enough I think to bend morning’s leap.  Excited for the removal of Annadel trails.  Hate running alongside traffic, having to wait for traffic lights.  Whenever I see Red, I’ll run left, or right, waiting to cross street, dodge traffic to continue my momentum.  In the park, with trees, silence, the Natural, this Writer won’t have2worry.

10:24pm.  Don’t want to feel pressured, tonight, with the 3PAGE completion.  Am going to stick to that practice.. it just won’t close consistently with this new practice.  And that’s fine, as the Writer sees it.  It doesn’t feel natural.  IT’d be forced.  Writers like I can’t be coerced.

After the run, tomorrow morning, straight to coffee house.  4 shots, like this morrow.  Today, in Room, feeling blurred.  Maybe a type of wine world claustrophobia [huh, spelled that right on first go].  Tired thinking about it.  Maybe the SB’s reach finally reaches my writing’s rite.  Glad I stopped when I did.  And I love this new shape the Writer’s taking, taken.  Everyone around me says I’ve become more ornery since my running seriousness has sprouted.  I agree, completely.  One of the facets I actually like, about ME.  I’ll evolve as I do– but always at WAR with Time.  I write.  IT doesn’t.

I win.