Meeting going over by 30, so 90 mins total.  Too hot outside to run.  SHIT.  Should have hit the pavement early.  But… no excuses.  Own the reality.

12:08

Lunch done.  Landscapers doing their landscaper things with loud blades and engines, propellers and what be so no power nap.

Yes I was thinking of taking one of those.

So… LoFi.  Drawing board, poetics and sentence fragments, ideas chopped, into new idea coats dipped, cropped.

Another poem for the day.  Me feeling free, like I want to go for a drive, but don’t.  Stay in the studio, keep writing.  Tomorrow in office.

Peace, what I feel.

Writing in the journal feels not so much different today but with a heightened intensity and honesty.  When I think about life’s brevity and fragility, I feel scare and panicked, usually.

Today, starting with this morning, coffee with the Nurse, I feel only the loudest of truthful celebrations.  Meditative.

That last meeting, exhaustive.  Taking another break… Or not.

::::::::

EOD.  Not in the mood to work, or really do anything and oh shit forgot journal in the car… I rush to get it.  Like it’s some sacred tome.

Back at the desk I check in to work and not a thing happening.  Much I love the new Story, it’s not at the pace I’d like which only means I need to shove it to such a place, such as pace as I say.

Working and writing and enjoying iced coffee at the small spot the Nurse showed me, just down the street, I’d say a two minute drive from here, tops.

“You’re thinking,” I said to myself while walking back into the Nurse’s house.  Which means, STOP.

Write something, till there’s a n idea, some connection or explosive benefit.

Two poems for the day.  What is this new publishing idea… hard to categorize.  So don’t, I tell myself.  

The gratitude is deafening.  But I run with it.  Never past it.