Temperature, placid, but still intense. I see everything in front of me and my ability to stop is not.
Kids readying for bed. Me, the writing single dad at the table, wanting to work. I know I should clock out. So I just… still. Have my thoughts in a knot, a mitt, or cove. Deliberating and amplifying, diversifying and intensifying.
Nurse still in her bay, working, so there is not way I’ll let this writer relax. I need more.. more work. No more of this usual regulurian shift. That’s a past and dusty myth.
Almost 9pm and the write feels like he just woke. Notes in journal, two laptops out, Pinot sips, none. Just thinking of it, looking at the tasting pics from 2011. Forever ago. My numbers drop a bit, now cool. Like Central Oregon Autumn.
And this writer walks in Zen’s send.
Budget done, businesses ready for the next day. Watch what you say.. screens and tables, the talk, documents. I have to laugh.
Thoughts heighten in edifice eclipse. I am newly awake, it’s obvious and a new slate.
No time to waste on overthought, a pile of drafts and other devils’ demands. EVER.
Me, much better. The only comedy to me is others’ attempted pressure.