Long commute home.  Lunch with vendor at 13:00, that give me about 2 hours to do what I can.. but I feel scattered and a mood overtakes me.  Thinking about moving my office into my bedroom, or having a desk there at least.  Think of how to arrange this condo, have it organized…. ‘228’, we all call it.  Its own location and zone, mood and tone.

Shaking it off… trying too hard to singularize and I need to be more vocal in the About EVERYTHING ring.  AE with this room, with health, with relationships, being a single dad, a blogging single dad.  AE…. Now I’m singing it more freely with consequential immediacy.

Mood not going anywhere, so I attack procrastinating tendencies.  Embracing the fuck-it philosophy, dispelling any failure fear.  Should be writing this in my journal I guess, but with the fearless edge I’m forcing myself to assume this morning, FUCK IT.

Missing the kids too, and the long drive, that’s what builds this growling writer, now.  Not in any frame to prospect or start new conversations, or follow up on the contracts I sent out toward the end of last week and yesterday.

Act, pretend…