Emma calls me upstairs for some help. She asks me to help carry her babies and a backpack downstairs. She tells me she’s going somewhere else, by way of car. “Where’s you car?” I ask.
“Is on the couch.” She says.
I laugh and agree to help her downstairs. We arrange everything in her car, a stack of pillow against the corner and arm and vertical cushion. I leave and while walking away she begins telling them all to be safe, signing them songs, asking them if they’re ready for their drive.
Made a list of all my project ideas, as they come to me and remember, no set or meant order.
Garmin sounds, NOON. Emma playing and not making sense to me but to her and her passengers I’m sure there’s profuse sagacity. “It’s a new day!” She tells her babies. I stop and absorb her instruction… it is a new day. What do you want to do with it, Mike?
16 items on project list, then a 17th with my 3rd-person narrative idea.
Emma comes in here, and talks to other toys. Grabs a book, sits down, more conversation with imagined return.
Add a couple more ideas to list, Emma now colors in a book. Hunger returns, what’s for lunch…. 66 degrees outside. Should run. Too hungry. Sure I have something here to snack on…. If I were in my shop, what would I do. How do I get there, and speed the process.
Opened a Pinot last night that made me think again, would the bottle I just opened make it into the shop. I noted yes, and yes for another bottle. Yes to a couple others. Finding wine isn’t the problem, money is. How much capital do I need to open a shop, and do I want a physical place or do I wish be wholly online, tech…?
Just make a decision. Okay, online. That’s done.
Emma demands water, “Right now?” She adds.
When I return to desk, I’m in no mood to produce. Not that I want to be lazy, just want to get out of the house. Since the restrictions were re-instituted, I feel the quarantine aspect more. Not sure what.
Just got update, I’m at 68% of quota, not 90-something as I thought. They don’t count devices, or something. Not a big deal, have three strong leads that I’m pretty sure I can convert. Just need to hit 100%, somehow.
12:33pm Emma in here watching Bugs Bunny on my phone. I ask her if she’s hungry and she says yes. What do you want peanut butter & jelly no surprise so I get up from chair and head to kitchen.
Indecisive. Like writer’s block of the physical self. Mind and bones, joints, systems. Need to get out of the house but can’t as it’s just Emma and I here now. So I write myself away, to a house on the Oregon coast. Not sure what town. But I’m there only with legal pads and pens. Clothes and other articles meant, nut nothing more.
Writing around the beach, rocks, on a bench, to the gulls and seaweed washed to sand..
I’m 41, and don’t see a trajectory, purposed path or topic. Thesis. If I’m a paper what am I about.
Easy… this. Writing. Travel. The wine I’m about to open our here on the sand. Not concerned with if I’m seen.