Emma asleep upstairs, Alice about to launch for her run, I’ll go after her. I plan on only going out for 50 minutes. Not a tick more. Project today, 300 pushups, or how I’m thinking of it, 10 pushups.. 30 times. Keeping track in the Carpe journal. Quiet in the house, easy drop-off with Kerouac, and on goes the day.
Hoping to buy some new music, just a couple songs, build my bay as it were. Tired of the same material in my playlists.. can’t wait for what I play in the bottledaux office. One of the bloggers I don’t necessarily study or follow but am aware of through social just bought or leased a new space. Have to keep my thoughts on my office, and this story I’m telling— the writing father trying to do everything.
Wife just left now me down here in home office hoping for some realization before my run. Not going out with Garmin, but with phone. Want to try and film some of the run, take pics while I run. Not shooting for any real landmarks with today’s stomps, just.. and I hate to say… ‘content’. But for the story, for the writing.
Cruising through music online.. what to buy— my brain going in a dozen dozen directions. But I refocus on the quiet of the house, the reassurance of my little girl upstairs getting her rest. Jack, content in his new pre-K classroom, Ms. Alice enjoying a run on a day with the runner’s weather. In painting my picture, I see more in the picture. How I’ll writer, where I’ll run and travel, what stories I’ll tell, the readings I’ll do wherever. This isn’t dreaming any more, but actuality, privy into my Personhood that’s still very much in development, but not a crabwise progression. I’m climbing, accruing altitude. On the 50 minute run, I’ll brainstorm and think and further paint, record everything. So in 50 minutes, I only anticipate (maybe) 6 miles. Again, the goal with today’s run is collection. Of Self, of aims, dreams, words, shades for the picture I’m composing.
Was listening to music, but decided again on the quiet. Fathers, whether writing or no, need this. Often more than the musical fix and go through whatever playlist you have cued. Should fit in a few more pushups right now, with this quiet, and this whole floor here in the home office to myself. Here I go— At 40, now. Will squeeze in 10 more in a minute, but this playlist and the computer not “syncing” with my phone, letting me listen to my old songs, bugs me. Goddamn technology, way to pummel my peace.
Ha ha! Bugger off, tech! I beat you! Listening to all old songs and reconfirming my painting, painting my picture and having all arranged as I find agreeable. One part of that idyllic still, my daughter. Still resting as the angel I know her to be, upstairs. Shouldn’t have her and tech in the same paragraph. I go upstairs, kiss her little soft forehead for my apology.