1/23/19

End of a day long, or just a day I perceive as long, on a repeat cycle unintentional but amusing, at least to me.  Up at 5-something writing on phone, get kids ready or help then get them in car which my son little Kerouac was more than intent on doing so that helped, then the drive.  Drop off little Kerouac at his morning daycare then take Ms. Austen, little Emma my love loving loves, to her schoolery.  Then to work… meeting, then another meeting after prepping all morning for both meetings and day in field then drive to Berkeley.  Walking streets with Sales Reps, then lunch, then a little more walking then drive back to Santa Rosa office.  Need to write about my drives, the Road, the commute, more.  I know.  Tonight, I have less than what I had when walking through door back home.  In just that small give of time, I lost a tremendous amount of beat.  Why.  Who knows.  I don’t.  Now with a glass of the red blend I bought the other day from Sanglier, during my short walk and saunter if you could call it that around the square.  Already 9:57.  I’m not giving in to my exhaustion, or this tired.  I won’t.  I can’t.  I’m closer to 40 now than I was this morning, goddamnit.

Done with dinner, at kitchen island counter, in my studio home.  No way I’m running tomorrow morning.  Will tomorrow night, seen in head right now looking at clock and wondering if I should just surrender and give in to this tired, what I now feel.  What if I didn’t.  What if I embraced it.  Write exhausted and a little sculpted from the wine.  I come home to sleeping babies.  Haven’t checked on them, but they’re up there, in their respective dreams and visions.

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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