At coLAB. Left message for prospect, now I wait I guess.  Still rest of day ahead of me, and I think this place is going to close soon, but I don’t think I have to leave.

The whole stay in place order is coming, everyone thinks.  Everyone acting like it.  Want to go for a run, do hills in Fountaingrove, and I probably will, or run around Rohnert Park—wait, forgot that belt thing where I can shove my key.  Okay, then maybe the gym.  Running on the tread, again.

The room I’m in, acting as my subject.  No one here.  Not the finance guy at the standing desk in front of me as he often is, not that other guy at the other standing desk next to it.  No one.  Just me.  Why am I working today, I wonder.  No, seriously.  This is perfect rationale to go off-book, or do something fun, something slightly-defiant.

Like what.

I don’t know.

Don’t want to get a glass of wine as I did yesterday (toward EOD mind you so it wasn’t THAT rebellious).  Run.  That’s the only path I find appealing at the time.  And time, here, well, I paid for the visit, I think $20 so I need to use this … can’t leave.  Won’t let self.  So…..  Write for blog, and for the new book.  What’s it about, I can just hear a reader asking that.  I don’t know, EVERYTHING.  Hows that for an answer to that goddamn question, “What do you write?”


I do, I really do, I feel….. work, wine, running, kids (which I need to do more, especially with some of the dialogue lines from Jackie lately), where I am and what I’m doing.  Like I said, everything.

1:06pm now.  Why do I keep looking at the clock, just write.  Why am I, are we, so obsessed and willingly controlled by time?  Going to gym early so I won’t be noosed by time.  Show at 4.  NO, be on tread RUNNING at 4.

Even my email now is quiet.  The quiet is alarming, unnerving.

Hear someone playing guitar, and I think one of the receptionists singing.  Reminds me I’m behind on my verse efforts. Need read more, start less new projects.  In fact, don’t start any projects.  Blog and book, that’s it.  There it is, another vow to self which I’m sure to sever.

How much do I want to run today.  What, 8 miles…? 9?  Tired of the 6.3 that I always log in phone by photo’s way.  Reluctant to book another race, as I don’t know how long this Budweiser Virus is going to be around.  I move like I need something but don’t know what it is .. like  search that’s not a search.  More verses in my head and wondering how much material I can put out.  But actually track it.  Don’t just write and have it go nowhere.  My inner professor is one with a better and more endeavored letter… should put that in a verse.

Saw post from my cousin’s wife, something like boredom is where genius lives.  Can’t shake the inference, won’t let it dissolve to indifference, but rather creative belligerence, newly-native significance–  Then learn the gyms are closed, all 24’s.  Now I might need a glass, if I can find one.