Two days later I finish a three page effort but it won’t count for this day’s three. Now I find myself getting frustrated first thing in the morrow and that’s never a positive– my mind saying, “Wow, only 7:22 and you’re already incensed?” Having another of those instant coffees in a minute, the one giving me almost too much energy making me feel slightly uncomfortable but I need the energy or electricity in my step even though last night with no wine and early bed has me plenty prompted. For my run, a in a bit, and I aim for ten miles although I doubt that will happen. The half marathon’s in 19 days if I’m not mistaken.
The coffee in cup and I’ll drink slow. Something about this type arming itself with far too much fire for the writer. Outside the temperature is more than optimal for me and what I want to have done, writer-wise. I’m thinking just 5 out and 5 back. I should be able to do that in about and hour, twenty, maybe just a smatter more. I see where the day’s going and after last night’s lecture on everything from editing to drafting to poetry, I feel empowered in an unusual way, growing my business and– Forget about the obligated and just enjoy free thought, play like my son’s now doing on the floor with his cars on the carpeted toy coffin. He organizes every item in a different way every time, I think even strategizing how the light will hit certain rows and certain vehicles, and what with that only he knows but I’m beyond intrigued how he never fails to bring his project to fruition, he just plays, the equivalent of sitting at the keys and pouring Self into the screen. Wish it were an actual page. Have to reference those singular words/ideas I scribbled when walking the vineyard with Andy the other day. I didn’t bother with full sentences or punctuation or any kind of paragraphed formality I just scribbled. Sentences are a luxury I’m finding with my tight time blasts. He now arranged the toys in two rows, starting together then distancing themselves, like an inverted “V”. He double-checks each vehicle to ensure its placement. There are still some on the toy chest and he examines each to determine which is worthy of a place on the floor, in the “V”. Sitting crossed-legged, he places the fire truck at the tip of the right arm of the “V”. I sip my coffee and am disgusted. Why did I make this? “Hey Daddy, look it!” I forget about this dreadful cup, focus on my little Artist, and the run ahead of me.. where I’m going, how fast I should keep myself, and the race just days away. Like racing to get a book done, race race RACE!
Huge sip from the cup, why’d I do that? Disgusted. Need real coffee. And the rest of those packets go to the glorious trash. Jackie doesn’t stop. And I know I have to change my attitude, mood.