Tuesday seems out to get me.

I’m not letting its self-pity fruit tempt me even a microscopic amount.  Kids testing me, then parking downtown (dollar to park for hour when I won’t be here an infernal hour), long wait for coffee.  Breathing, breathing…  hoping I find a spot to sit and write as I am–

Seated at round table in middle of floor with back to people who enter and leave, which I don’t at all like.  Moved to other side of table… now wifi gives the writer grief.  “Stop your boring-as-ever complaining!” I throw at self.  “No one cares!” You’re right.  Calling today “Attack Tuesday”.  Meant, I’m attacking this soggy sequel to Monday and it’s the day where I attack everything.  Get closer to my road chargestars, my teaching in other states, on other campuses.  English 1A ending last night, the writer sad.  Motivated from all the feedback that I’m meant to be there but not just there, on that campus–  I have to share ideas and yay-saying fire with the world if I can.  This music relaxes me.  Haven’t sipped the mocha, not yet.  Today is positive, today is set abalze by my stubbornness to have it progress any other way than one fixed for me.  Tuesday doesn’t have control, and I have more control than I know to manage.  Why couldn’t I see that earlier?  Get everything done today…  don’t allow anything in that slows.  Fire never slows.  I’m ready to sip my mocha and watch my thumbing on this phone increase in velocity.

Starting to settle.  I’m in business, right?  An owner?  A “proprietor” as so many in the wine’s wobbly industry love to voice?  Then act like it.  If you’re in business or want to be free, autonomous truly, then just with your inferno take it.  First sip and I can feel Tuesday’s grip slip.  See?  No more whining.  Only self-assured blurb.  Music more, music more…  song by Air, “Playground Love” (Vibraphone Version).  I relax further and see me in flight as my sister is, traveling for her winery, staring down at clouds and knowing I’m where I’m supposed to be.  “Write more, write more,” I urge matriculants, “and when you think you’re done tell yourself you haven’t even started.  Convince yourself the story needs you…” I have.  I follow my own noose tightening.  No one else’s.  As writers and creatives, as those sprinting for independence, we have to know what our story is.  Not necessarily how it ends, but WHAT it is.  Me, the writing father, seeking travel and new experiences to write about and teach from, share with my babies… more sharing ideas that I’m convinced can lead others to having their own ideas rather than just conventionally teaching.

And just like that, here in Peet’s on 4th & D, I’m better, and Tuesday’s on the run.