Crosswalk Chord

Week starts tomorrow.  Budget done.  Henry crying and me don here trying to concentrate.  Cleared off much of this table/desk.  Promising self to never put another thing on it.  Taking off these two pens, then the milk frother (Have to try this thing…. Make lattes for me and cocos for the kids…).

Stressing this morning and not sure why.  Then I know why… wanting to do everything all at once.  Being hard on self maybe, yeah, but just wanting more.. like every other human.  More room in house for kids.  My beach home in which to write.  Wake up earlier, run more and I note nearly everyday.  Try to tell self to calm down and relax don’t be so hard on yourself as the Enterprise Director Mark directed, but that’s not an option for me.

Thinking of when I was in Field Sales canvassing the Sunset and Richmond, and Diamond Heights (I think it was called) and looking at the houses, imagining one of them, or all in different individual circumstances my writing house.

The week has already started.  Hope to do reports later, line up calls for tomorrow.  Where is my memory stick, the Sonic one….  Have an idea of migrating docs from Sonic laptop to this one for MY collective conversation.  No disparage of Sonic, but to more form and frame my architecture.

9:42 Not in mood to run yet.  Look at houses, rather.  Everything from small beach cottages to a forever-home for us.  Then distracted again by this desk..  Then pictures on laptop.  Well, no kids around me so why not let the thinking throw itself wherever it fancies.

Coffee on a deck, early morning, looking out at a sea of rows in Dry Creek.  We used to call it “the cottage”, actually.  They probably still do.  Looking forways to get somewhere, to perpetuate movement to something… sitting in my beach office, or traveling for wine and wine writing assignments that I give myself.  What is the singularity?  Lately I’ve been quibbling with singularity and if that’s even the approach one wants to take with writing or anything.  Then I know the heaping volume of thought is was compromises….

Sip coffee, look at desk and hate it then love it, the the coffee on the wooden “rail” or border, or whatever you’d call it.  Each picture telling me to do something.  More than the beginning of the week, or of anything.  Acknowledgement that there’s already a placed and moving ebb that I should let instruct me, this Mike Madigan at 09:56 on Sunday morning.

Another picture – Kids in bath, being silly but still thoughtful about where they place each toy and what each one does, its meaning and role, presence and setting, aesthetic.

A sunset that I still remember, all of us on the lawn at Dutcher Crossing with phones and cameras out, capturing.

Then, a wine that I cannot remember tasting, but love the label.  Where was this?  Doesn’t matter.  It punctuates the wine story in my story and how that’s a ruling constituent of my composition.