Home. Kids outside playing.

Me inside with wine at desk, trying to work.  Met with old friend earlier, talked about, well, everything.  Haven’t seen her in 9 years, since we both worked together at Lancaster.  Time reminding me again that it doesn’t care of my reaction or ability to translate or appreciate its movement.  She looking the same or better, but I can tell that I’ve and at least in my eyes and my sight from my ability to perceive the self’s visual.

Not just sipping wine, but here at desk as I promised myself I’d be.

Think the kids are playing with… fireworks?  Or some pop explosive things you throw?  What the fuck is that?

It stops and I go back to writing, sipping, more sipping, then thinking… that song by Odezza, “How Did I Get Here?”  I’m here, but how, and the shift, all it entails – much of which I don’t know.  I can’t obsess over it.  I can’t let myself think or dwell or think with any intensity.  My friend today, what she had to say from her experience and—  Don’t want to elaborate or even speak.  Just be here in chair, with this Decoy Chardonnay.