1-20-25

15:21 

Day off.  Was stressing about work earlier, but then after meeting Nurse at her work and talking a bit, I’m not even thinking about it.  Taking her counsel to the heart within a heart’s heart – enjoying the day.  No stress, just collection, rest, meditation.

In Vacaville home, laundry going.  Espresso.  About to let in cat, whose middle name is now Jefferson.  Thought of it while driving, trying to talk myself out of this work-caused mood-mud.

Walked around Barnes & Noble in Fairfield, waiting for the Nurse to be released for lunch break, looked at books, magazines, was caught by photography, photographers… passion, not working ‘cause you have to or anything obligatory but a PURSUIT.

Anytime I visit the Nurse at the hospital, or if I’m doing something till she’s off, this goes through my thinking.  And I’m frustrated with self still, to be honest.  Why did I put my faith in academia?  Teaching?  Thinking that the adjunct thing would lead to ANYTHING.

Nothing I can do, here I am.  Left camera in Windsor, and could fucking kick myself for doing so.  Move on, I tell myself.

Haven’t written in the EVERYDAY in too long.  Will after these types.  My mind is a spastic fly right now.  15:29

One idea then back to it, then to another, then another then—

Like those flies that smack into walls repeatedly and you ask yourself, “What the fuck is it doing?  Can’t it see the wall is not going anywhere?” Maybe this is espresso writing in these zigs and zags, zigzagging plumes of indecision.

Indecision… that is something I need to attack.  And like, today.  No more waiting.  What do I do… do I stay with teaching?  Obviously fuck no.  But then I think about construction, or project management.  What???  Where did that come from?

I’ve learned that sometimes, when your mind is a spastic fly, the only thing you can do is follow it. Let it buzz. Let it land. And if it smacks into a wall? Well, that’s just part of the process.  And the process is sometimes painful, and frustrating.  You criticize yourself but then think what the fuck is that going to do.  Then you realize that the inwardly-tossed shots are part of this “process” too.  Then you question if the process is even a process…

Like the Nurse says, I overthink to a point where it’s humorous.  That little wood block in our condo’s kitchen, in the coffee corner that reads something like, “Hold on, let me overthink this.” So true of this writer.

Immensely true.  Day passing me and I’m on my final sips.  The espresso echoes in my concentration, waiting for the Nurse to get home.  This post, a little scribbling, then get ready for our dinner date.  Thai food, she said.  Can’t wait.  I still get those first date nerves with her, can’t believe it.  But then, yeah, I very much believe it and understand and am grateful, often saying to myself – FUCKING FINALLY.

Sip…