So I’m


And thinking about everything. 06:14 and a whole day in front of me, off technically. Home with son for most of day, and not sure what to do. I never have days like this, ever. But I do, today. Told self last night that today would be when I finally wake at 04:00. But, no… I’m up now, though… and need to finish the book. Any book. A, book. Just one. The rest will follow, right? I mean, isn’t that how this works? I won’t let myself fall into some mood. Not today. And if something starts to bark, the constant chirp of my stress, then I ignore it. Do something to decimate it. Keep writing notes and keep self in healthy thought consistencies. What do I do with today. Well….. enjoy time with little Kerouac. Go for a run. Write more. Make time for reading, either one of my book targets, or another…. So much I want done with the day. Who knows how much I could have already written if I did actually get up at 4. But I don’t think about it, not anymore as I’m up now and see it. See all of it. The book, done. Traveling… speaking on health and writing and…. Then another thought. But what was it. I didn’t set my alarm. That’s what it was, is. Okay then, it’s set. Tomorrow, I write at 04:00 and about the hour itself, how that early hour is he healthiest act and idea and practice I could ever emancipate.

I could have gone back to sleep, but I remember last night making a double coffee shot and pouring all into tumbler. What I now sip. Who knows when day really starts, when little Kerouac wakes and I’m somewhere with him, either watching a move or having lunch, going for a walk or– I hear him yawn, and stretch, sniffle, I think say something but I can’t be so sure. The day lifts off, takes its flight… Not resisting any of its instruction. Not now or at any point.

Stomach thunder, rumble, what to do with day … so many ideas, possibilities and scenes, songs…

Kerouac, writing in my SRJC adjunct cell, just before 09:00.