me:  8/15/16

Took both babies to school, this morning throwing my character into a swirl of daddiness.  Rushing back home to get on running gear, then attacking the Fountaingrove hills in 7 miles, just a touch over an hour.  Then went to get Alice a sandwich, bringing lunch to her classroom, staying for a while to see what’s she’s done with her room (ll incredibly creative), then coming back here to desk where I’m an intentioned animal in getting all this clutter away, emptying wallet and backpack.

On run, looked at all the houses, the architecture, colors and how the yards were groomed and crafted.  I smiled to self, overlooking a little ravine off to my right, looking down a slope steep and over to whatever distanced mountains those were.  Thinking about where I’m going with my writings, this blog, my story, where I want us as a family.  I will admit, I’m not too jazzed on where little Emma and Kerouac go to school.  For a rattle of reasons, none of which I really have time to catalogue or address now, but I need to keep with my writing and not get tired— like now, tempted to nap, and part of my thinking says, “Well, you ran 7 miles in Fountaingrove!  Take a fucking nap!” Too easy to give in, but I won’t.  Just going to keep writing, and clear this desk, do some budgeting.. oh, and take a shower, this running-writing-fathering adjunct.

How do I let all this shit accumulate in my wallet?  Look at this…

Distracted, by that ‘this’, all the receipts and business cards I had stuffed into my poor little heaping and overstuffed portefeuille (wallet).  But I type on, wondering what I can do with the remaining hours in day for me.  When to get babies…  Alice said not till 5, as Emma usually goes down for a nap and Jackie won’t want to leave, rather stay and play, and I’ll be bored.  Not me.  You know this writing father, I always keep busy.  Will take the Paris journal with me, and phone of course, finish verse I started earlier…  Writing father, with time running away from him like it’s afraid.  And it should be.  I’m not stopping.  Before anything, father to little Em and Kerouac.  So I have to keep moving for them.  I work for them.  And I can’t even a bit disappoint my superiors.  Not that they would be, but my standards are stratospheric for Self, so they can have whatever they want in life— all opportunities, possibilities, attained visions, all similar.

Wonder what they’re doing right now, at that school.  Tempted to go by.  Should I?  No.  Give them space.  Let them explore and learn and interact.  I’ll tell you, the urge is electric and taunting, to just drive there and spend the rest of my day with the babies.  But nothing would get done.  I was already late to this laptop, desk, clutter I need eradicate.  So I’m going nowhere, so we can all soon go somewhere.

It’s all up to daddy.  Or, that’s how I see it.  That’s how I want it.