Café It

Finished day’s short piece, yes about a man working at car wash. Have to edit. And the piece from yesterday. Also just finished a 3page poem in less than 10 minutes to some fast-moving Hank Mobley song. Been in this chair for a while, haven’t touched the upstairs desk I promised Alice I’d clean out.. ugh, not enough time.. calm calm.. I can only think of Uncle Ross and how my father has lost a brother. The pain must be unbearable. Have to be strong, live, show Dad I’m strong, and share this strength with anyone needing it.
I will tend to the desk later, with a cup, maybe a mocha, have fun with it however I can. Starting to slow, no matter how encouraging the jazz wants to be. I’ll here break.. with the standalone fiction done, and a rushed poem.. happy, but saddened by the loss of Uncle Ross. Have to keep writing. And honestly, now, I’m afraid to leave the chair, leave this table, leave the keyboard.. here is where I’m REALLY, truly alive. I see something in Ross leaving, I learn, and I appreciate, but then am held by sadness.. feel like I should have reconnected with him while he was here, still here, feeling failed, need a break from this table now and the keys as what my fingers type I don’t want to read; I don’t need to hear that I was a failed nephew– no, that’s not what they’re saying, they and this Hutcherson song just want you contemplative, meditative, enjoying your day. HAPPY. The day, and Life, far too concise..
And I see ‘It’… What I’m to do.. this adjunct Life will give me nothing but material, so use it for that.. and I will, as I’ve said.. but the writing and this blog and the other projects I’ve started and not finished are what will define this writer.. WRITERWRITER!