This whole morning, in a music forward. Reciting tracks to self driving here to Windsor, planning some project, some reading, somewhere. Eating a breakfast sandwich in at the corner table, my table, and playing with words, my own nerves, me in the was and were…. Seeing the next reading, the first in some time. Just put down four lines for first track of day. What do I want to say? Having that writer dilemma, or pause, worry that I’m repeating myself, over and over and …. It’s over. New sights, new morning and day, coming back to work after having day with wife and babies on Sunday then just wife and I yesterday doing wine-food pairing at St. Francis. Finding odd motivation and electricity in these rimed thoughts, ideological blotches from unknown causes. Love with it, with me, with what I see currently. Mind going in a dozen directions different and I try to contain and centralize, singularize…. Harder, older I get. Nearly was distracted by an idea, but no. No more, just tapping on these keys knowing it frees.
Nearing 40, nearing the harshest self-assessment of my story thus far. Some conversations and opportunities approach, but should I even acknowledge? Should I just focus on my art, my pages? Isn’t that what I poet does? Today, I do nothing at work. No administrative nonsense, no shipping, just pouring people wine and myself and co-worker. And, write the entire day. For me. New tracks…. Have to escape the tasting room. My life and creative efforts, ME, I, depend on separation. Dismissing inner urges for prolonging, delaying, or any hesitation. Keep self in the seat, only re-write and never delete. My story, about understanding life and exploring all dimensions and angles.. Fear is worse than impending end. So, only doing as I see to do.