Day 1

Sanction Credit

No more cinnamon bread …

Thought, and am still thinking, this whole morning that I need to challenge myself.  How.  Don’t want it to be one of those sill trite ’30 day challenges’ that you see your Facebook friends talk about all week or month long, posting more pictures than putting energy into their project, or “challenge”.  What does mine consist of .  Well, I think of what I want at the end of it.  So… what, then?  I know, or I have ideas.  But I’m not going to post them here.  I’ll write them in the Carpe Journal.  Just wrote three targets.  So yes, this “challenge” has many challenges within it.  And I’m not calling it a ‘challenge’, but a new story.  The New Story, like the New Deal…  My New Deal to myself.

Change in winery’s schedule has me going in later.  Have to be in at 10AM.  And I thought about writing at sbux but then I thought of all the people there, those filthy fucking tables, all the noise, and how rare it is I’m in this house in nearly-frightening quiet.  So here I am with coffee #2 and my ideas, Carpe and the thoughts of what I want to be at the end of this New Story.  First, more disciplined.  Second, I need something to sell to bridge these infernal income gaps.  And I know what a reader could be saying, “You work two jobs, how could you have ANY income ‘gaps’?” Easy.  First, the college pays me once a month, which is a dehumanizing hammer unto itself.  Then, all the overhead associated with two babies, a house, a devilish auto that constantly needs some servicing of some sort.  What the winery pays me, not bad, but again the overhead devours that before I have even a chance to place it in a checkbook register.  All the story of a working daddy, two babes, two jobs, house in California.  But I don’t have to surrender to anything, I don’t have to accept any reality either handed to me or that I’ve placed myself in.

Just remembered the cleaning ladies are coming this morning around 8:30.  May have no choice but to go to ‘the bux’.  OR, not.  Still have 40 minutes for my sitting here, enjoy thoughts of my New Story and scribbling new adds and ideas to the list.  This is a stretch in self-actualization and realization, education.  Changing the story, just someone, a father, of two, getting what he wants for himself AND his family.  And I don’t want this narrative to be banal, either.  Father making all these declarations, all these promises.. ‘It’s so hard being a father and bla bla bla…’ Not me.  Ever.  So I sip the coffee, or I will when I stop typing, put on some music…  What do I want to listen to?  What kind of mood am I in?  Zero 7, the Pandora station.. electronic but genuinely melodic, jazzy, calming and its own relaxant.

This desktop once more annoying me.  So, of course, added to New Story list.  I always tussle with this desk’s top.  But I’m tired of it.  I’ll take a picture of it everyday and post it somewhere, not gloating it’s part of some hokey challenge.  But to show… I don’t know.  Something.  I pull another piece of that cinnamon bread wife bought from Costco or Target I think.  Enjoy with coffee.  Making this morning my own, what I want it to be, beginning the composition of a new story.  Why not.  Why not at this age.  I’m always obsessing over my age, and I know I shouldn’t.  Mom once told me that you’ll be in a stupor if you dizzy too much in the acknowledgement of your age.  Now I see it, now I appreciated and am rattle by new truth and sight.  It’s true.  Of course I’m going to age, we all are.  But focusing on that number, the tally, something only conceptual if you think about, is utterly unneeded.

Thoughts continue their rain.  Storming brain and wishing I were in school again.  But I am, right?  Student to Self always and what happens around me, learning from every character and occurrence around me.  The thoughts take me away from this quiet house and to travel, where my work will soon carry its creator.  Where?  I don’t know, I hope everywhere.  Too soon to obsess over travel destination, especially seeing’s how I want to go everywhere.  But that would be one of the projected tangibilities of this New Story.  30 days.  30 DAYS.  Today, the first…  10 more pushups.  OH, busted!  Yes, an item on Story list.  100, day each.  Why?  Well, to add to health, life, but as well to stay in that habit and pattern.  Discipline!

I hit a stall, not so much a wall.  Unexpected temporizing of the momentum I was just seconds ago enjoying.  Why, I have no idea.  I haven’t overexerted myself, have I?  Don’t think so.  Maybe I should slow, be more measuring in my typed actions at this home office desk, piece of sweet cinnamon bread at right.  Tempted to get another but that would be my third, and an extensive population in this effort dedicated itself to dedication itself… discipline!  So no third.  “Oh, but it’s so good with this coffee.” Part of me says.  That thought, tossed.  I enjoy my music paired with the Studio’s quiet, and enjoying that I get to delightfully revel in it longer as I called Ricardo, gently asking him if his crew could get here a bit later, say 9:30, as I’m working at something still here in the A-Walk base, I told him. “No problem, Michael,” he affirms.  “I will have there at a little after 10, is that okay?” Answered him ‘yes’ and ended the call, returning to my morning’s thousand-or-so-word hopes.  I returned to the thoughts where I am now, where this New Story started and I’m hoping to never end.  After this “challenge” I’ll plant another, pick what it yields.  Sip.  Live.  Love.