Up still. Moving still. I started my 4am story, the pages sequencing from this day forward with the antithesis of control. Going to get coffee. First expense of day. Moving money around, toward my business, and this blogs & chapbooks idea. Today, back in Berkeley. Hit a bit of traffic on way back to Sonic but time highly utilized for meditation, thinking of all the projects I now have hovering over me. Was contacted today to possibly do some wine industry consulting. Am raising rates, as the questioned project is outside anchoring sight of mikemadigancrEATive. I’ll see what happens.
In adjunct cell, nearly caught up on everything. Thought I was much more behind, but apparently I’ve been as tireless as I boast in these posts. I am axiomatic and pragmatic, to some sense. Just a couple notes for class, so far. Tonight I’m keeping simple. A think tank, blended with open mic attributes, associated with just newly generated thoughts and journal readings and who knows what else. Making a master list, a new one yes, of all my projects. I’ll inventory which ones I hit day to day, or try. 6:17 and need that coffee. Need to write whilst I teach and offer my ideas.
This morning being at gym— or let’s start with waking, alarm playing its odd tune looped at 4am and me sitting up, rubbing eyes and forehead, saying to self I can go back to dreams for just a bit. Then a commander, a sergeant of some sort in my character ordered, NO. Don’t you dare.
So I didn’t. I dressed, laced, grabbed wallet and phone and earphones, keys. Out door by 4:06 I think. At gym shortly after and on tread at 6.2 speed before 6:30. I had my eight miles, and when done, I walked over to friend from Sonic, Mr. Abraham, who was in the corner jumping rope like an over-caffeinated rabbit, so precise and so quiet in the swings and diagonal throws with the rope and his hops coupled. We talked for a bit, and I headed home. Paused in the parking lot as I hoped to. Smelled air as I saw myself doing last night when I thought about the walk back to car after 8, if I hit 8. And I did. Warmer than I thought it’d be. When home, sparkling water and look at oven clock. 5:52. All that done by 5:52. Before six. I have to make this habit. Religion. I said to myself sipping the bubbled H2O like I’d been lost somewhere remote and had only dreamt of thirsty ending the entire time.
Now I’m here. The typing helps, and I know the coffee will fully bring this writer back to his lively literary life. Need cinnamon in it, anything to keep me in my character’s code and courting till home when I open that blend from Napa. Or do I want something else? Do I have anything else? Need to budget for a massive wine purchase. Talking about wine wakes me as well. No surprise. Very much now up, flying over these keys and laptop and to all walls and borders of this shared adjunct office. Over and over, going over the morning. The alarm, tying shoes, drive there and back, the water, and me now after the eight miles, over twelve hour past.