Two and a half hour commute home, Oliver’s dinner, laundry, wine, bed.
Energy for nothing. Want to write about my lunch run, the first south route and outing I’ve done in…. No idea. The smells on the Piers, running on Embarcadero, always a bucket list item but never had the opening to bring to life.
Reconnecting with Uncle Stevie and Auntie Linda. No comms for over 20 years, but it doesn’t matter. The story is new, renewed. I’m overloaded and overdosed in gratitude…
Coltrane, then Davis. The loft, its positive presence and perambulation in my Personhood. Again wondering how I’m here, this fortunate and enveloped in such pronounced love.
More… thoughts and associations, relationships, old and new and ones that haven’t intersected my immediacy.
Then, the fucking commute. Lots of thinking in that cabin, seeing two accidents, both rather significant. What am I doing, where I am going. Like I wrote earlier don’t know but there’s a calling, demand from character in the character, for a pour of stories in the Story.
How old were my sister and I, staying with our aunt and uncle. Time doesn’t forgive, or relent.
Only encouraged, and with this writer – EMBOLDEN.