Jackie, Alice, and myself play hooky. Went to museum on West Steele after taking Emma to school. Not that we wanted to excluded the wee-est Madigan beat, but we thought Jackie needed a special day just for him. Seeing him smile, so inspired by everything around him in that museum, saying “Dada.. come here, come here!” and me following him sans explanation… made my day in more ways than I have time to explain.
9:17PM. No wine night for the writing father. More motivated than I’ve ever been, or certainly more than any time I can remember since ’16 started. Not sure why, guess a realization while we were at the museum with little Kerouac and I noticing him getting older, more independent, not as much needing hand going down stairs or hopping around on those rocks outside by that stream, in parking lots. Time wins again. For now. There’s not a fucking drop of wine in my system to slow me. Easily measure I’ll be up writing till 12AM, or past.
Alarm set for 4. Thankfully Alice made a grocery run and was sweet enough to get her writing husband coffee. Oh yes, the morrow’s is already brewed, in the tumbler, waiting for this writing daddy to dive head-fucking-first into it, be at 3 pages before anyone wakes. Do I regret taking the day? Not even diminutively. My decision to call brought me here, and will take me to 4AM.