Double espresso made and settling on running around HQ later, for lunch. No aim yet, but since I didn’t wake early this morning like my friend I am ORDER-ing a run. A strong one…. 1 hour. No pace or distance aim…
Another business idea hits me. Where’s the Paris journal? Who cares… see if this one ratchets itself into your wall.
Hear what I think is a hawk outside, from just off the back deck. Makes me think of Sunriver. That trip to Gualala, soon…. Or Santa Cruz. Either way has to be by a beach. Giving self an hour to write and collect here in the nook— Hawk agrees, singing again, this time louder and closer.
Then to HQ. Write down, LIST, every lead, every conversation, every person and potential. Take this into December and 2022. Receipts to left, on that snack tray we’ve had since the San Carlos days… Mom would get us High Tech Burrito and we’d watch some show at night. Smile, but then don’t reminded by time’s fury and commitment to agin us, making us realize it’s not forever and it runs out eventually and we don’t know when.
On not such a death-set etch, I have the most considerable commission of my AE story thus far landing on Friday. Most of it going toward debt, the little I have, and the house. Recognizing too that if I can keep that up, those species of checks then I will barely notice the monies missing from adjuncting. All the texts and emails sent yesterday to students… next year not having to do that. All the energy I can set in the AE story, bridging to Bottledaux and other projects… project that pay… projects that will deliver to my babies the life I want for them and that they deserve – where they’re happy, enjoying, safe, cared for on multitudinous plains.
Mornings, addictive. No sound but the heater from vent behind me. The hawk moved on I guess. $26 to last rest of week. New budgeting exercise already taking a hit yesterday with me succumbing to the tempt from Del Valle. Those shrimp tacos… you would too, reader. Trust me.
Identity, thinking about… toying with… realizing certain dimensions of. Distracted by ideas… not letting much new in. Simplifying, working with what’s already placed and active. Espresso done, wanting another. No Starbucks… coffee, morning, writing.. a story there. Wine fading in significance, running now of more volume and meter. Then what.
Scheduling knot… shit. What does this always happen. Writing on list. Making another… When will I stop stressing about, well, anything and everything? Does that come with age? Sure as fuck hope so, ‘cause it’s exhausting. Take a breath… you always hear that and are told so. SO DO IT. Okay done. Guess I feel a little better, I guess…
My daughter, thinking about her and her birthday soon, party this Sunday. 6 years of life with this little girl…. Her birthday on the 15th though, not the 6th. Either way, she’s getting grown, time again reminding. I start to tear thinking about her and how I don’t see her as much, her brothers…. Then the tears flee and hurriedly retreat when the anger lands, the vengeance. Breathing again… focus on Emma, I remind self. Not some people who love that I’m hurt this way. Retribution is always an option, not a necessity.
8:27, guess I should leave soon, right? The New Story…. One morning then another, one day. Don’t forget running stuff. Friend getting workout done before 7 this morning. How does she do that?? I have to. I have to be her. Changing movements and mind, belief in SELF.. augmenting. Intensifying.
Leaving in 10-15. Running at 11, doing new route around HQ. Slow is the goal so I can reach 1 hour of running. A full hour. Slow and steady— Hate that expression, especially when people who don’t run or have NEVER run in their life say it. But it’s true, I have to say. It is. With Friday’s check, registering for the Napa marathon.
Running back from bedroom, right next to me now. In a runner’s mind and personality, only wanting to run and find new routes and paths and…. Readying for day. I’m in a me versus ME mode, and story, totality and reality. Poetry in ever rile and read of the me’s.