There is no regret in anything I’m writing, not even in a sort of small theory.  The strength and assurance about me is sharp, and telling.

Last coffee for day, too hot outside to run any more errands.  So I’m stuck at the desk, just what I want, need.  Not seeing the Story as a race, but a hike, or trek, new and needed exploration.

Writing out the sought-for destination, and it is finalized today.  Blogging, capturing, writing every fucking dimension and ingredient in scene.

Trusting the Story, what it intends.  I know there will be more turbulence but my reaction pattern has been refined.  It is adept, versatile.  Feeling positive and proud in this new position.

Nurse at a funeral, and the shortness of life is on my mind.  Why waste my time on some people…?  Never mind that, them, I have a plan of my own.  Writing a new book on……..