Writing in journal all day. Tired from night with my littlest Beat, Henry.
Trouble sleeping at beginning, but later tranquil, consistent. Keep asking self what I did wrong.
Prospecting new business all day, contacts, no lunching out.
Tired all day, maybe that’s why it passed fast.
8:05, done with leftover pizza from last night Jack requested of his grandparents, a salad I bought tonight at Oliver’s. Ready for bed. Early. Needed.
Capping night with St. Francis Cabernet, Sonoma County, 3-Tier effort. What you’d find in a fucking Safeway in Iowa. But it’s good. Better than good. Something to write to.
Like this football game. PIT v IND, 24-17 with 2:31 left in 4th.
Can’t concentrate on game and I don’t care who wins, to be honest. Thinking about the commute, and how much time it takes, takes away. No complaining or citation, just notice.
Where do I need to be. More time with my little Beats..
Cabernet showing different character, not a lot of discernible dimension. What does she need to excessively explain. There’s a textural connection, like with texts, Any of Kerouac’s Compositions, journals, poems, sketches.
Candy store last night with kids, all I’m seeing now. Not the drive, not that goddamn parking lot… just my babies.