Much better. Finished the entire Cobb Salad, never do that. Working, but not with any harmful intensity. Notes, not full sentences. Thoughts, meditations. Can’t wait to see kids in just over 2 hours.
Make my money in tech and internet, then finish my story with wine. What I told friend last night at dinner. And that IS the plan. Really realized it’s truth and meaning and gravity here while working lightly and having lunch, in from the 40-something degree frigidity. Not tense at all, not even relaxed. I’m something else. Composed.
Baby crying at next booth but I barely hear him even though he’s not even 12 feet away and there’s none of that covid glass or plastic between booths. So many times this is what helps, a shift in scene. People and kid leave, quieter. Don’t want to leave yet… one more. Then back home. Or not. Think I’m ready to be back in home, house, whatever I should call it.
Singularizing my perspective and approach to conversations, relationships. To EVERYTHING, really. Changing as I get older and I notice and some of the contrast I welcome then others resist. I’ve been off, this set of holidays. I don’t readjust, I don’t restart… just ignore my own feelings and mind. My mind and thoughts, emotions, chemistry, all of it is lying to me.
Okay, then who’s writing right now?
My spirit maybe, or something without a classification or category.