Mid-month, as I just noticed, here in Vacaville just starting the day.  Latte already near death, and me minimizing life has me more free than ever.  Where was I like this, like an empty shopping cart just flying down a hill?

Maybe this is the renewal I’ve been chasing. Not the spa-day, cucumber-water kind like at that Cancun resort with the Nurse.  But a loud pop-up concert-like morale-molder for SELF.

Living like you stole something. And maybe you did. Maybe you stole yourself back.

Me talking to SELF as a ‘you’.  Why not.  Who is this writing writer, this morning.

The one who wants to get out there and pound out 7 miles a week or bit more before his first 13.1 since before covid.  Dangerous, that’s what I want.

To live dangerously, like a running rebel who rushes back to his laptop.

So then I will.  Like I posted in the Field Sales chat on Teams – “Today we get it…. That is the language we forever from here speak.”

Can already feel heat hints up here, in the office, second floor of the Nurse’s house.  Me, rattling and ready, ablaze in my own imagination and eagerness.  Dragon reciting verses just written or ones on the spot said.

No endings. every sentence meant to spiral out of control until it crashes into the next one, until the punctuation gives up entirely.  I will force punctuation into surrender, or at least to work the way I wish it.

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After a five mile run averaging nine minute miles, I’m tired and a little a-growl for not reaching the seven I set out for but like the Nurse said, “Walk it off.” And that’s what I did in this goddamn Vacaville heat.

Running is a drug, there is no ambiguity in the actuality.

The danger and pain of running in this temperature, especially somewhere with stinging heat even early in the day like Vacaville, its own character.  Meeting this new Mike Madigan writing character type which even he is just getting to know and take liking to.