Indecision.  11:38

Cleaning the Archive, that weird but intriguing closet or storage space, or para-room in the master bedroom.  Thought about moving this desk in there, but then put a knife through the Composition of my indecision.

Typing in room, coffee and not espresso, my mood calm and SELF assembled.

No negatives.  SELF.CARE… the day’s curriculum.  No more overthought.  Killing that too.

Walked to the Green with E&H and now relax… thinking of everything, or trying to.  Not pressuring myself to think of everything but that’s the mode I’m in.

Meditative.  Don’t hear anything, even Emma yelling down to the loft at Henry, telling him to come find her.  Well, I do hear her but there’s disruption or disquietude associated.

My thinking is in a different shape and sense.  I’m rebelling a bit, against the writer’s own SELF.

Sip the coffee, from the Cancun cup.  So much, EVERYTHING, right with my world right now.

Nurse messages me, I smile.  I don’t hear other people.  I’m not in their kitchen anymore, ever again.

The framing of freedom and liberation about my writer spirit is antagonizing in the best way.  How do I explain this.  Maybe I don’t need to.

Or shouldn’t.

In fact, DON’T.

Just live it, experience it… sip it from this little beaker.