Not rushing into prospecting or organizing, or anything. Coffee and relaxing tracks. No rushing into anything. Even with this writing, not rushing. Not telling self I have to put up any minimum of words. Why do it just to do it, I think.
Grading still needing to be done. Still have time, but with it swinging around in my thoughts disruption is caused. Making self run today, no bloody nap like yesterday. 11am launch time.
Jack awake, and I heard Emma just now with her coined yawn. Keep sipping coffee. Get away from this desk. Why am I here still?
Heater coming on. Feel that urgency shove, that push, like I need to be doing something more substantial… what did I post yesterday? Let you and the day acquaint. Why don’t I….
Yes. Just relax. Take a day off, but don’t. Memorialize yourself in quiet and calm, not chasing the kids one way or another, for now. So rare. Becoming more rare. What can I do about it, and can I blame them? No.. stuck in this house with their parents and on vacation. “Vacation”, quotes needed.
And why am I using this laptop, the work laptop, for entries?
There she is, Emma… downstairs and awake. “C’mon Emma, sit next to me.” I hear Jack say.
Back to me writing on this laptop, on an additional place. That stops. Today. In fact, acter this post, I’m cleaning this laptop. Gutting it of any writer…. Talking to self, as Mom has always advised I do when in a funk or some mood or production run. All days are bonbonnieres, just need see them so. Sweet, varied, inviting, tempting, and YOURS.
Music calming me… seeing my office, the beach house. This coming year, two days from now. Get here already! No, patience. Back and forth is a futile exercise, one not contributing to any fitness of character or mind, health, anything. So I stop.
Just like that.
Move a ‘round some monies, nothing serious. Something for the house. Both, actually. Family’s, then my beach composition cottage. I imagine driving down to PG, thinking about what I want to write. What I want to finish in the week I’ll be down there. Of course I have some idea before getting in the car, but it’s the drive down that settles it. I think wine, running, kids, running again, essays about getting old and making fun of myself. Reacting to the news, writing about current topics like HST did, or maybe something totally outside normal tone and topic.
Early mornings, and what they do. Or, writing about writing in the earliest of hours. First, have to wake at that hour, that’d be appropriate. But today, taking it easy. Not going hard on self for sleeping in a bit. Writing down everything. In 500-word riles. Wines last night, run today, the news of my friends mother falling ill. Life is not just “too short” like people say over and over, and annoying the shit out of me while doing it. It’s not even here. It’s imagined, conceptual. You can choose to live, or just wade one day into the next. Election… what you put into motion. And even that, perceived.
Much, this morning. In thoughts, possibilities, this coffee… here with the kids, my health, the run later, EVERYTHING.