No worries, getting up early and running from here. Borders will be Hopper and Piner, Cleveland and Fulton, roughly. Came home and ate a running-Mikey lunch, carrots and peanut butter, one slice of that whole wheat bread I like to pair with remaining pb. Sparkling water, shower, dress, come back down and engage in a series of emails concerning one prospect who is going to sign but doesn’t want to be live till 5/1/21. Ugh, I think, it’s always something. Is this a covid thing?
Make schedule for tomorrow, writing out every hour… 4am rise, be on pavement or on bike if I don’t run by 4:30, latest. Stop workout at 6 and fly to keys, shower somehow before taking kid to zoom screen school. When back, do not leave the chair. Class tomorrow night, so I’ll plan that throughout the day. After class— Just realized, I have a mile quota, so no bike tomorrow morning. Bike would only be in addition to logged miles and routes.
3:09pm now, stress gone. What was I stressing about, leads. Contracts. Conversations. Covid. Making extra revenue in a time where no one is moving, and as the year comes closer to the heart of flu season where covid cases are expected to spike even more seriously there is less movement, less spending. Why I opened this Lil’ Sumpin’ just before the clock showed me 3:00.
Quiet house. No music even. Keep it this way, I self-say. Sip Ale, look outside. Fall. Leaves, parked cars in shade that insinuates autumnal shape and pace. Should be prospecting more, but I’m forcing a slow, to collect, think…. Life’s work. How I want to be seen, and I know you’ll give me hit for saying this but ‘remembered’.
More than anything, a writer. Even more than a wine figure, or runner, business bloke, even more than a father or “loving son”, husband, anything. Writing for you, for a liberating lace of thought and sight for all around your immediate space, stage.
Thinking tomorrow morning’s run will be small streets, several short dashes and directions. Two sips and beer’s done. Must have been thirsty, parched from my not-even-4 miles. C’mon, that’s bullshit. Anyway tomorrow’s run… yes, down and up San Miguel, then maybe a bit of Santiago, back and forth a couple time would easily surpass a mile, then all the Coffey side streets and cul-de-sacs. It’ll be dark, and I hate that. But it’s a fear or something I need to just ignore, pass, invalidate with a newly-created runner’s state.
3:18 Too still, too quiet. Not sure why it’s unnerving me as it is. What’s for dinner, I think. Get an email alerting me a password to my work email, or something, is expiring tomorrow. Well, I say, I’ll deal with it tomorrow then. Text wife wondering where she is she texts back she’s on her way and here she is pulling up. Peace cut, done, dead. Shouldn’t say that. Looking forward to the kids, Jackie’s craziness even…. Emma’s too.
They begin to pull in, then back out. I text asking them where they’re going…. To get the mail maybe. Here they come, Jackie first, in through the door like a one-human invasion wave, Emma following. Opening garage door. Why not a direct attack through front door?