11:11PM.  Writing freely. 

Thinking clearly, having drank the ginger ale, now sipping a decaf.  On floor of living room, or family room, and enjoying time to Self… finally.  Yes I know I had some in the adjunct cell, but that’s not home.  I’m home now, meditating on this 30-day story…  Ten pillars, not all of which I’ll hit every day.  I’ll keep stats, and at the end have a sort of batting average, if you will.. or maybe I don’t want to do that.  I don’t know.  Getting tired I suppose but fearful of sleep as that’ll only mean time wasted I could have been writing.

For tomorrow: 1,000 words, haiku, promote business, shoot video—  No, have to stop writing down what I will do, but rather what I’ve already done.  Write thinking about his age again, he’s 37, not exactly where he wants to be career-wise but in a position to elevate monumentally.  Just have to figure out how.  Use what I already have, like Mom suggested the other day.

Back from a trip upstairs to check on Jack, as I heard him call for his mama.  His thin silver comforter wrapped around him, uncomfortable as his usual blanket blend is still in the washer waiting to be washed, following a small accident last night, poor bloke.  He fell asleep as I adjusted the blanket over him, so I think he’s fine now, I think.  The writing father types slower, not to make too much noise.  I’ll be done after this paragraph, hoping I wake at 4 to pick up where here I leave.  Lifestyle and story change, for me, this career I’m plotting— travel, maybe some photog’, but more my narrative and wined stretch over and across and back & forth about the planet, just to see what I see, see what I write.

If I’m only living once, that’s what I have to do.  Write, travel, record everything.