Back at desk. Only 3.22 miles. Unlike the 6 my friend told she ran the other day. Will get back out there again tomorrow.
Something tries to sour my spirit, bring me to a lower level somehow, but IMPOSSIBLE. I get my kids tonight, and NOTHING will stop that.
You have to laugh, someone just told me. So true… humor. Not even humor, but comedy. Maybe not even that, but a wild and loud and engrossing hilarity – the way some people are. And they seem themselves as just righteous… all their claims, their positions. Itemization of what another fails to do, or should do.
I’m in the stands, popcorn and cackle.
My day in the immediate moment shines and lauds a rile of hope and love, elevation, rebirth even.
Couple messages at work, look at time… 2:48, should leave soon to get Henry and Emmie, then to their mom’s house to get Jack, home sick, and baseball equipment…
I stress over time, not the kids. It flies by with his dismissive dartiness and its only of the promised stress sources for this aging writer.
Oh shit, dinner… what’s the plan? Chef Oliver? Mr. Door [Dash]?
***Learn to cook