Drive to Sonoma.

Little under two hours I leave.  May take off a little earlier for coffee on Square, and slower drive.

Busy week.  On several fronts.  Organized in attack.  Like a real war, and it is in some respects, but how I approach… notes only, no time for full sentences in journal.

Emma up, Jack walking down stairs.  He arrives.  7:56.  Emma tells me she has breakfast plans this morning.  Caught off balance by her remark, but move on.

Nearing halfway through July.  Guess I’m teaching in Fall.  Fine, I say to myself, thinking about the books I’ll order.  Sedaris, Lawson, then Crosely.  Then the students themselves and their stories.

I look at Jack and Emma on the couch next to me and feel ravenous, intended, more ire in my writing.  No more waiting, for anything.  The image of…. Reminding self while reading my own story.

Kids watching show, not bothered by my typing.  Quiet morning, aside from the show they’re watching which it disturbingly corny in writing and acting.  They like it though, so….

42.  I know, stop obsessing over my age.  Hard to when you feel it so  much.  

No run this morning.  No time.