Starting day with a money project.  One I just thought of.  And, taking notes for next week.  One, don’t be in the office.  Canvass, knock on doors, meet everyone in business you can.  Save Friday for in-office day, admin and strategizing.

Today, a minimal spend day.  Not a no-spend.  Get a run in, somehow.  Someone in leads group suggested a running book.  Might buy later, have plenty to read now with current texts for classes and papers, and my own writing.  Need follow own counsel of reading aloud what I write, like I taught in last week’s meetings.  Get grading done today, if I can.  Can I?  Yes.  Do I want to?  Not at fucking all.  I laugh as I still struggle with grading, but have improved galactically as a “teacher” and speaker.

Started the book yesterday, when on break and before meeting the IT guy at Del Valle, where we both had a beer and tacos.  With the heat outside and a bit in that little family-sung building a beer has never tasted so romantic and harmonious with a day’s weather.  Anyway, the book…. Writer in the tech world, or internet world, somewhere where you wouldn’t expect him.

8:02, babies awake.  Jack in trouble for something he did and I struggle to be the angry parent of retribution.  I’ve expressed to him that I’m not pleased with what he did but I assured and reassured that I love him and that I’m his daddy and I will always be his daddy and love him.  Should I have not done that?  Far more important than money, or any tracking of money, budgeting, any associated mood.

Another part of next week’s Sonic plan—do more of what I like, what makes me happy.  Which is pretty much everything, but the elements which make me most happy will receive voluminous intent and focus, and presence and practice.  This was to me very much said when I met with the Petaluma prospect, and I spoke Sonic and its offerings.  I felt more confident with the more technical and connective composition than I thought I would.  I felt confident, happy, home.

Hot outside, here in Brentwood. Thinking about my kids, Jack reading aloud to himself in the morning and Emma pretending to be a teacher like her mama. Me a father and 40, where I’m going and where I am, the whole way down here on my thoughts. Not looking forward to walking around in this heat, but I will. Plan laid for day. Just need to follow, follow through.

Write when back in office. Read book Mom got me for Father’s Day, tonight. Bed early, wake early, make coffee for morning…. stop saying and just set yourself in such scene.

As someone who obsesses over work,

and what work he has to do, what I have planned the next day and the remaining hours of this day, I am honestly with nothing.  But I make myself write.  One student tonight saying one of her goals is, was, is to wake at 2am to get ahead in her studies and I assume write a little as she does write poetry and write in short lines, short stanzas, pieces that span only a page.  And I say ‘only’ out of awe, that she does so much to a page in only a page’s pulse.

Was nearly too lazy to write anything tonight.  Told self, “Just a hundred words, per blog.” But I can’t hold self to that.  Should I do what this student plans on doing?  Should I set alarm for 2?  Isn’t that the time of the artist, the writer and poet?  Didn’t I read that somewhere?  On my lunch today grading papers and writing in the Sonic journal as this goddamn laptop didn’t want to let me use it.  Of course, now, I do push the buttons and have a note in my writing normalcy.

Finish the fucking book, I tell myself.  Like my son said tonight as I poised to make his bed with new sheets, “GET TO WORK.” I am.  I say the same to self.  

Sip the Barbera I popped last night. It, she, more calm.  Me the opposite of anything tranquil at the moment.  Working in the home office which isn’t as common as I’d love to tell you it is.  But, WORK.  Work.  What I write about.  Force self to write when I don’t want to.  I do write about wine, but that’s not my only onus and thought light.

Now, I’m like a train with this, these writing thoughts.  I, not failed.  Not failing in my aims.  I won’t allow that.  No one should.  Why would you.  You are here, once.  And I’m not addressing the fact one only lives once…. I’m speaking to myself and you, that where you are, right now, the opportunity and life invitation to bring a project to completion is singular.  You see it once.

You are a train, if you wish be.  Some unknown animal of fruition, bringing works to an offering stage.  There are only stops that persist acknowledged.  So acknowledge none of them.  I see so many of these speakers and motivational-who-be’s profess all this counsel but don’t consider the most apparent reality… the audience member has to decide.  They only elect to act if they bring themselves to movement.  Tonight I could have just as easily poured this red from El Dorado, sat on the floor of this home study, went on phone and scrolled through some photo pour.  No.  We decide to draw, paint new plausible for our Personhood.  Decide to move, be alive, mentally, alive, wildly alive in all movements of your steps and actuating saunter. 

What work does for and to the character is animated in divinely lucrative chant.  Dodge the task, never.  Distractions and suitable sanctions to project-dodge are terminal.  The panacea, always, is preemptive production.  Never, labor deduction.