15:42

The day, hectic in a way I didn’t expect b ut I’m stronger from the throws, and now more Composed.

In the loft, checked mail and a couple other moves around this Sonoma County writing base.  No run today, deciding to take the day after two straight 6-plus mile days.

Battle with SELF, or self, trying to build a more sky-scraping persona.  I’m here talking to the screen, telling myself it’s going to be a victory, all of it, but more than a win or a loss, there’s the experience.

The enrichment.

Nothing happening in this loft but my thoughts, close of a Monday which has tested me, the first of its type since being back at the company.  Hear some people outside, somewhat elevated in tone.  Wonder what they’re talking about.  What is the day teaching me, these voices I can’t understand and the surprise visit to the loft?

Not that much of a surprise.  I mean, I did hope to drop by.  And while here in the nook, as I so many times have written while the kids are asleep… I push myself in to a meditation.  What I want… that bullseye.  People at work…

The internet, sales people and how they talk, then those in other departments.

Then I start to think, was the day hectic, or was it in my fucking head?  Obvious, the overthinking writer creating something that needed not be created.  Okay, admittedly.  Lesson for the day, scribbled and I’m lesson-ing in its flip.

And now, what to do.  Day of work isn’t over but you know what, I’m fucking ready for it to be over, if I’m being honest.

Living in the moment, here in the loft, Windsor, where I used to fantasize about this life – this quiet, this writing where there is no one around me, a loft, just a block and a half from the Green.

And here I am, writing about what I’m writing about and where I’m fucking writing it.  The Postmodern mess of it is lovely, like my fiancee.