06:40.  Alarm at quarter to 6, Nurse up needing to be on campus by 07:00.  She wakes urges me to go back to sleep, “Just rest babe,” she says but I refuse.  She calls me stubborn.

Am I?

I think so.  So… I get dressed and brush and make myself espresso.  She leaves after a dozen or so hugs already missing each other not to see each other tonight.  She leaves and I come up to the office knowing this is an opportunity.

To do what.  I ask myself over and over – What’s so different about this morning?  Well, you’re here.  Now.  The 25th of October, 2025.  This Now has never happened before.

I find my thoughts molding and folding in more a postmodern posture and poetic with each step.  Poetry more yesterday than for some time.  06:53 now and night outside.  Although not, that is the color and feel.

Air into office from the room meant for the kids.  But of course, not here for some time.  Distance from that thinking, and in the distance this writer manifests.

Trouble sleeping last night because of dreams odd, so while up I promised myself at least one useful paragraph, or thesis.  And, what postulated, “Distance Manifest”.

Now onto cold brew made by Nurse with some sugar-free cinnamon syrup.  Perfect.  Sip it slow, she just ordered on the call.  And, add more water.  I’m opposed, but will honer her command.  Shit, maybe I am stubborn.

I fall into a stentorian debate with SELF.  What am I?  Stubborn, or with conviction.  And whatever I am, what do I do with it?  Why not overthink the fuck out of this, I do all the time.  Just ask the Nurse…

06:57…. This morning is a gift, I tell myself.  Don’t move from the chair.  Others, those not to a writing partiality would have done what the Nurse suggested, back under sheet and head headed downward to pillow clouds.

I couldn’t, I can’t.  Have to be here.  Thousand words rushed like I were still working at that one winery, rushing to my vehicle parked in the ancillary dirt lot with a vineyard view, wanting that feeling of knowing I hit 1000+ words on my lunch rather than sit at that crusty circular table at lunch and just fucking stuff my face.

07:00.  There it is.  The time I have always associated with actual morning.  Look behind me and out the window.  Dark.  So, the morning tells me it’s early and take advantage of this time.  Where you are, what you’re doing to the LoFi playlist, jazz and hip-hop.  My mind needs this.

This morning, I am gifted a gorgeous notional piece-nez and mise-en-scen of ideas and estimation of my place.  My story, character, purpose.  Training myself, in tandem with the morning and day singularly.

This track, piano, slow percussion, light but present.  Relaxed, but feeling borderline tired.  Another sip of the cold b’, no water add yet.  I will, I promise.

The over-thinker in me, like a dragon, pushing its air of deconstructive intent and burden, analysis and graphs and just anything it can think of at me to make my mind more heavy… you fucker.