Done. With he regularity of blandness and expected shows, do’s, tasks and tallies. This morning I woke with a slight ache in head from I’m sure that one and only glass of Alexander Valley Vineyards Zin. I never drink Zin, and I had it too late. So this morning leaving pillows and sheets I rolled my eyes and thought about the day ahead in the tasting room, told myself not to take any attitude, especially THAT one. So I’m here committed…. People around me, with the day off. Me, not. Needing my own office… where is it? My mood… writing way out of it, approaching that age. Stop writing about it, I know. I’m legitimizing it. Need to do something drastic, today… creatively radical. Eight hours I could be writing, spent pouring behind a bar. There’s that attitude, I know I know.
At least I acknowledge where I need repair. Book technically due tomorrow. What can I do. What will I do. I sip the mocha and say ‘fuck it’, frankly. I’m a shameless me manuscript and modality. I say to myself, “We all are, from time to time, right?” I have no idea. But this idea, this finding self through more exploration of self and what I want, what I want to be doing for the rest of my life— what YOU should be doing right now instead of being safe and contributing to pattern and the expected formation of everything out there…. Go. And move quick. The clock is a cannibal.
Stories in head, from the tasting room and other realities… my character, Kelly, and her novel, some novels snd short story collection. Will be with family all day, come morrow, so I need five sittings I this morning vindicated, between now and when we leave the house for our drive (taking kids to see race cars, or something, at the raceway in whatever city that is). Five. And I’m doing it. This isn’t passion you read, but refusal, refusing to keep with anything. I’m done with templates, being on a foreign schedule.
So I did it. The same thing I always do on Saturday. Get up, ready self for labor, care for babies while Mama suits up for workout class and leaves, wait for neighbor to come over and watch Jack and Emma, then I leave… come here, write a bit, get to place, and then stress finds me. I decided, on change. That this will be how I make my life more worth living, make a living, more wildly live. There is more in the present than I before noticed… people around me, looking at their phones or talking in small groups on their day off. Me, the writer in corner gathering himself…. Short stories, screenplay, novel. Starting over isn’t starting over. It’s starting. I’m deciding to start, I’ve found. This morning. And why not. Why not decide right now that, more of what you want, what you aim do for the rest of your days, and stop what stops you, or slows you. Decide.