It's the first morning and SF is bright sun and blue skies and I'm putting on the gypsy jazz to rock it. Sitting alone in this Victorian kitchen, tea getting cold, words getting slower and the brain is muddled from expectations and hopes and worries and reality affirming the upturned, disheveled state of my life.
Getting a place to live would be first on the list, I suppose. Somewhere to settle and live from a closet instead of a backpack. Getting a place to live. Getting our furniture. The trips to and from Target and Bed Bath and Beyond. How much time is that going to waste? Those are the hours and days I can never get back again.
Then there's the business. How am I ever going to get money for it? One step at a time: there's the product, and the marketing, and the messaging, and the fundraising, and the legal and backoffice stuff. Knowing what's important is important, they say. But it's all muddled and upturned.
So my brain flits between points of calm, zones where I tell myself that I'm here, back in San Francisco, and it's all blue skies - now and eventually. For now, I have these few hours, to write, to drink the tea before it gets colder, to soak in what I'm supposed to be getting. But in a few minutes, I'll be yanked to that other point, the place where everything is swirling around, like a tornado lifting me somewhere else, or perhaps like a whirlpool, circling the drain. Who knows?
Stepping back, they're just a series points, vibrating, and I'm lost in them. And the morning continues.