That’s it.  That’s what “mediation” is to me.  Collection.  Regrouping.  And this morning I do so early, with my son waking me up, ordering me to come downstairs with him and watch cartoons.  He suffers from allergies as I do, sniffles at my left.  We arrived down here at about 5:54AM, and at first I said to myself “fuck it’s early.” But I survive, will survive the day, thanks to an early jolt from the coffee I made last night— cold now a bit, but still doing the necessary, waking the writer and starting the day.. “Wake up… wake up!” I say to myself, look left and smile as Jack is more than ready for his day.  Why can’t I have his energy and eagerness?  Why am I so goddamn old?  Breath… regroup yourself, writer.  When the coffee’s colder like this I can drink it faster.  Not sure that’s a positive, but that’s what I’m doing.  Not sure if this is a meditation or some sort of lecture to myself.  Just keep writing, wake up, beat the shit out of the day, like it’s some thing that owes you something.  And doesn’t it?  It owes me material, three thousand words, a way out of regularity.  Path to Wellness and thought and what I want.  Again, that end-game being Travel, my own office, and just writing freer than freely— my freewriting skips will show others that writing is always a meditation and should always be a reflection of your thought pattern.  So enveloped in my meter and sentences that I don’t hear Jackie’s cartoon anymore.  I just see the words and how the day’s going to develop.  Material.. dialogue.. people from yesterday, from New Orleans that couldn’t believe how gorgeous the property was, telling me about New Orleans as I couldn’t stop with the questions and confessing my obsession with the city— the man was an artist, having his own gallery and loving the feel o f his own city, how it forces him to paint.  Could see myself in their city while talking to them, waking early as I did today, going downstairs to the lobby, readying for a run, coming back to write, then prepare for whatever lecture or talk I had that day.  I want their city for the jazz, for the food, and all the sensory talk; smelling the cooking, hearing the jazz, gawking at the building designs…