February 29th.

Just looks funny.  What’s the point of the leapyear.  To separate and differentiate from others, I’m sure.  Either way, today’s one where I will give more atomic action to what I not so much do well, but what others respond to.  Offering ideas, writing, speaking, photography, certain business creative steps.

After a 6.85 mile run feeling hungry, and wanting to test self, see what else I can do.  After gym getting iced coffee and not the nearly 6-dollar latte I order.  Haircut was a little pricey, $35 including tip since I asked for shampoo.  Why, just feels more complete, I don’t have those little hair needles falling randomly from head.

Reflective… into the meta.. where I am and what I’m doing.  Run, haircut, then to Oliver’s to get some food for house.  HOME…. Something I’ve been thinking about over the past 4 or so weeks.  And not just where you live and sleep, where your family is, but what you produce, your work, how you feel found and in domicile with your production.

Tomorrow at winery, going to record everything for the 3v blog.  From the tasting room writer’s perspective.  Huh… but I don’t want the entries to be too long, not so exhaustive that the connection is compromised.  The year when there are 29 days in Feb is something to let light you into a new fire.  More than reflection, more than offering ideas, but instinctive production.  Have a stark contrast materialize in this day from others.

Starting to feel a little tired, but don’t let that expand. Don’t let it overrun my run through this sitting.  People around me waiting for their coffees, then some older white guy interviewing three Latinos for some job.  Not sure what.  He’s being informative, and light and kind in tone, but there’s still that condescension.  I don’t know how to say or explain it, bring it to this paragraph, but just a couple moments ago he used the word “gringos” to get a little laugh from them.  Scraped my thinking in a way I didn’t quite care for.  But still, value in it as a story, or part of the story… What we do for work.  I’ll be 41 this year, and like I just heard in a Jack Kerouac reading about the young kid playing the drums, “..what will happen?” I know what will happen.  There are no questions anymore.

Feb 29.  Doesn’t looking odd or even microscopically humorous.  Not anymore.  It’s a loving shove, some otherworldly counsel to the nucleus and nexus of my inner-notes.  My kids and their instruction, their unintended urgency and kind begetting.  New poise in probity, from what they say and do.  Today is its own storm of love and sagacity, decided vivacity.  A realpolitik in where I am, what I am as a writer and father, runner and business builder….  I’m thinking too hard about the day rather than just listening, be taught more.  The exhaustion fades, and the entry and day fueling it expand it and me to whatever’s sought.  More learnedness, more state, more sense.