A Desk, A Coffee, A Me

This morning, writerfather mode exponentially.  Iron pants, shower, not enough time to shave— well, that’s not true, I could shave now but I’d rather write.  Second cup, cooling, not enough time to heat it.  Have an email to send to prospective writing client and need to call other prospect.. meeting tonight from 6 to 8:15 (I think).  Busy, need to be tireless and with a creative IRE that promotes pages, not just “content”.  You know, I’m starting to intensely loathe that word.  “Content”.  So neutral, so bland.  Content for WHAT?  Where’s my coffee?  Oh, in the kitchen…

Now with coffee, bag packed, new journal student gifted me, all self-elevating ‘yay’ declaratives, one a day.  Thinking more wildly, more pervasively and enveloping Self evermore in the crEATive—  Had to put everything back on desk’s surface which only stresses me, but I let it go— let go of weights, certain mood and modal tints of perspective.  Just stay writing, stay written—  “BE written.” I order of self, to become a more fortified Self.  Capital intentions in capitalizing it the second time as that’s where I’m headed—

Had to straighten kitchen, left PB out as well as J, for J, requesting he have a lunch to bring to school.  My first morning making him a complete lunch, as they always serve meals at his school.  Like I said, writerfather, where time is not in even the most minuscule angularity forgiving.  After this entry I’ll get to the contacts I have to make.. just looking at the clock, now 4 minutes from 8.  How did that happen.

Why.

Why is time so targeted toward me—

In my head, and it’s the coming birthday.  Didn’t reach 10 on my yester’ run.  Only 5.  Felt tired and just not that into it.  Is that the age?  I’m confused.  All this writer-father-runner-adjunct-wishlister has to serve.  Menu with one dish.  Maybe.  No that’s not true.

Do I go in to the winery early, or show at my scheduled time of 10?  UGH—  I’m overthinking.  I know!  Precisely what I urge students NOT to do.  So how’s that for your daily draught of hypocrisy?  Distracted by messages, what I have to pack what I have to do what I want to do and all the other to-do’s I’m sure I’m forgetting.  Breathe, I tell myself.  Meditate.  “Quiet allows me to collect,” I just wrote in the student’s journal.  Then added, “so there’s no need to stress.” So I take a couple more breaths, sip my coffee, enjoy the quiet, and resolve “I’ll get there when I get there.”

Keep thinking about yesterday, the ‘5’ students, how awkward it’ll be without them on Monday’s and Wednesday’s and—  FUCK!  The newsletter!  Forgot that, too.  Okay… organize, calm, pressure should encourage not anesthetize, right?  Here.  I’m moving.  I’m moving…..

I keep thinking, if only I had today’s 8 at the winery to myself, my office, my writings and projects and aims— well, why can’t I?

REMONSTRANCE:  Get everything done whilst at the winery.  Calls, notes, newsletter, write at lunch, and take two breaks, each ten minutes.  AND, post to blog as a notebook, notes and collections in the moment, etc…  NOW, I’m efficaciously moving.

Watch me—

(5/24/16)