Taking some time to SELF to write straight to blog. No word doc. On the telecom monster’s dime, these types. Liberating, empowering, not sure what else. Thinking in all directions this morning on the drive over the mountain, then onto 12, into Sonoma County then that hole that is Rohnert Park. Cold when back in condo. Like an oh-fuck kind of cold. Space heater, my little Buddha close to me and humming just loud enough so I can hear but not over the jazz.
Bobby Hutcherson and other artists…
Work, careers, the main thought. The Nurse, and even others as foolish as a stair railing that have a “career”, then people like Dad and my sister who are more than rockstars and authorities in their Field.
And me… no, I don’t have the highest estimation of myself right now but after a conversation earlier with someone, boasting their knowledge and with so much insight and ever-valuable advice as to what I should do, then do next, and then after that, I’m smiling.
Seriously, here in this chair in this Artic Windsor condo/loft, with a villain’s grin. Why, because I realize and not in some trite or bumper sticker way that I have LOVE. From the Nurse, from ME… family, and a few others. But ME…. I see what I can do. I fucking know, what I can do.
So, I’m typing when I should be in the Field. I should be knocking, but it’s cold as shit outside and I needed this time. My former students and what they’d ask me.. the English classes and those perfunctory course outlines that I just had to fucking stick to and never did and it was better for the students, ME, the conversations.
Lean on the journal, I’d tell them. Well, not like that, but something like that. Nurse always tells me to lean on her, and my writing. Just what I’m doing now… writing about her. Our conversations and Story, our Adventure day to day.
Earlier writing something on Fear and Work… you may have a job, one you hate or feel a stranger in, but it’s only for now. For that time. Or, as long as you allow.
Do you know what writing can do? Especially if you write to yourself? Saw a note in an old journal, “Put yourself in your own message, that only you know but are about to share with the Universe… with the Story itself.”
I remember writing this. Right after everything happened. And, almost four fucking years later the words fall right into my lap. Just as Dad said they would one day. Different context in which he expressed that, but I’m reminded by this room and where I sit and this fucking sales noose.
13:40. Will I make it to the Field? Who the fuck knows. No, I don’t want to stop in on business and introduce myself, have the unknown “Okay what’s next” feeling. Just not in the mood. MY message, NOW… Make SELF happy.
And just like that, the writer smiles.
The Nurse messages me again, something even sweeter than the last message, and the smile is stuck. More expansive and stuck. Gratitude umbrella over me, this Room, the Town of Windsor.