I wake this

morning to thoughts of a new client, the meetings I have today and how Jack is–  OR was asleep.  Now downstairs with me and me on cup 2 with more thoughts, thoughts of where I want to be, the end.. to these means, around the time when Emma’s born.  Again not the decided name but at least for now a working name, one which I adore frankly.  Today walking a vineyard with Glenn I’m sure, but before that, between our meeting and that with his daughter Chelsea I’m thinking of writing again in downtown Healdsburg.. somewhere.  Perhaps again Oakville Grocery.  Or the bakery.  Just need to collect seriously these standalone pieces, that’s what I’ll sell.  But I’ve said that before, before again again and one more again.

Hot in this house, or at least it feels so.  I came home yesterday, or last night from Mendo to the air conditioning growling at the heated innards of this new house.  Relief, I thought, opened a beer, had dinner, the day done.  A long day, my Thursdays this semester, but that’s what I signed for, only once a week thankfully.  I have a list of dimensions to shed by term’s end, and Mendo and Solano are at the top of such a roster.  Not much else on mind other than the accumulation of clutter so far this term, already, only week two with notes and the Comp Books, submissions already filling my bag, receipts from all the stops at gas stations and breaks at Starbucks like yesterday when I posted at 12 & Mission just for a handful of breaths to post something to client 1’s blog.  More content for someone else.. just for now, though.  This startup idea I have will relieve me of this morning’s angst, and I will work on that when at Yulupa this morning, and Healdsburg later.

Looking over at Jackie, not at all ignoring my little Beat, he’s content with his waffle sticks, watching a cartoon and playing with his cars.  No angst for this character.  And at the end to this Fall I’m vowing to be more of his literary shape.  But just then, he gets moody, upset with me when I ask him to take another bite, or I’ll turn off the show.  He moans and stretches backward over the carpeted toy box, and looks at me, perturbed.  Just part of the morning progression and panning, tilting, camera angles on our own little set and stage, the writing father and little Beat.

Another episode of Jackie’s show, his mood elevated and emboldened by this new episode and how I went to him as soon as I sensed distress or dissatisfaction, however you’d tag it.  7:09AM, and the day already commands me to clean up.  Everything from this laptop, to the desk, to the writing projects, to how I keep track of progresses with clients, my checkbook ledger… everything.  But I calm, charge my camera for transferring pictures, the hard drive Alma gave me, and ready for departure to Jackie’s school then my Yulupa office.  Wonder if that one woman will be there, the one who became agitated when she, walking slower than anyone should after walking through the door (not holding it open for me, or offering), headed buried in her phone typing or texting or strolling through some social media feed.  I walked past her as she was taking up the entire walkway with her sizable size, and I was in a rush.  I heard her groan or grunt, then when catching up to me in line she said, or felt she had to, “That was really rude.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“You know what you did,” she added, or felt she had to.

I could have destroyed her in an argument, but it wasn’t worth the writer’s time.

What’s worth this writer’s time are my students, all campuses.. my son.. my queenly wife carrying little Emma and being so empyrean to get her typing frantically scribbled husband a pizza for dinner, only from our favorite hut in our old neighborhood.

Not in the mood to stop with my types in fact the caffeine depends on the types just as I what’s in the cup.  Would love to taste some new wines today, possibly on the square, before my meeting with Glenn.  Maybe from Hawley, Chelsea’s husband’s label, for which he’s the winemaker and production proctor.  I will, and maybe one other, then to Oakville.  In no way is today a day off but I’ll pretend it is, or do I want to– no, just one like what I’ll have at the end of term; me a s a writer and that’s it just living by and through my words.  My standalone projects, MY CONTENT, my brand if you would.  MY deadlines and my office, my urgencies and MY DECISIONS.

Nearing a thousand words and the coffee showing more vocality than in recent days, I’ve decided to in my little black journal for mikemadigancrEATive make a list of sheds, what I want to be rid of come end of term.  And the first thing: worry.  Any anxiety, any pessimism or doubt, be it toward self or one of my projects.  Terminal optimism, as I told the Mendo section last night, will be my practice–  I’m interrupted by my own laughs as Jackie dances to his cartoon’s introductory song, “Daddy, Daddy, you go’ do this.. I show you…” Hilarious.  And I can’t stop laughing, and join him, then when the song’s over I’m back in my morning thousand and thinking about my “day off”, if that’s what it is.  NO!  A sampling, or taste of what the means’ end.  Just a write, nothing else.  One loving wine and– huh, ‘nother idea for the startup.

Fly buzzing around my eyes, interferring with keys contact.. damnit.. annoying.

Healdsburg rooms targeted.  Know where I’m going and what I’m doing.. charge camera, pack bag.. readying.. the wine startup, closer than we all think.  Another sip, more more write write–