Getting a bit tired. Sore from yesterday’s run, but I’d better get over it if I plan on that marathon in February. “Plan”? No planning. No more. Already registered so it’s going down, do note. Cold in house, and I write on. What else can I do to get closer to my office? Again my head goes into drive mode, go photograph vineyard but then I ask for what, what project will it contribute to?
Breakfast? Maybe some eggs, hash browns or something from Piner? Have to keep moving… no deliberation, no more meditation, no thinking. Just movement. Razor thin budget for week. Living from the change I have gathered. Less coffee buys from JC cafeteria. So, gas then… sorry for the money mumbles, but I’m going a mile or more a minute.
Timelines in place. Feeling ahead of schedule. Or at very least a bit accomplished. Take a breath. As Mom sometimes advises, “Put the pen down.” What if I can’t, I wonder. What if I need to keep working? What if you’re addicted to words, Mike? Stirring upheaval in my senses and character, but I can use this. I know I can. How. Just keep producing, moving, actuating.
10:39 and I’m still on couch, using this new table that we just bought at Ashely’s, and writing. Words. The proliferation of my Personhood, my story. I do need a drive. I need coffee or a, better, bottled water some some random spot. Everything’s writable, everything contributes to story.
I’m going to amplify my ideas and offering of ideas that I know are healthy and of some avail and advantage. That will be ME, for the rest of my working life. Going into 40. Fuck… oh well. No stopping it. I have to fight by not fighting and embracing, the simplicity in the richness of simplicity. Don’t overcomplicated, as then you only oscillate.