My writing average down, and I’m furious with myself. 

The other night I should’ve spent more time down here ‘stead of going up to the loft and relaxing, essentially doing nothing.  Haven’t checked into work, and holding off on that for a bit.  Getting kids later…. Just the big kids tonight.  Looking forward to Jack’s stories, whatever Emma made and can’t wait to show her daddy….

Mood gets a little better with thoughts of them, but then I get a call and I have no choice but to engage with work.  I should embrace it, change my attitude.  Texted someone about an opportunity outside the company yesterday but still no answer.

Thoughts of taking an early nap but reject them… on a charge for more Composition in the day, life, with EVERYTHING.

Stresses compound, devoting the day to quelling them ALL.  Then I open a package sent from Uncle Stevie.  A book on Stoicism, modern day usage of.  He and I never addressed Stoic philosophy, neither in our calls nor our letters.  The timing couldn’t be more apt and welcomed.


Then I calm, Composed… sip latte and enjoy the lowered volume of the heater’s hum.