I got caught off base waiting for a delivery, so there wasn’t any reason to go anywhere the rest of the day. Take the mandolin out of the case, argue with my fingers about chord shapes, and fantasize about finding free time enough next month to spend until September’s end learning it and violin too.

Another long walk today through city blocks, chasing a story across multiple neighborhoods before, at one point, summoning a ride share vehicle that turned out to be completely electric, and then having the questions I asked the driver about the car folks into his about the story I wound up writing.

One of those days with everything: traffic reverberations, a large tub of popcorn, a three-mile walk, wheatpasted posters for an AI-enhanced (enchanted?) dating app, an inadvertent walk past a building full of workers I’ve talked to recently, and a scammer who called me (but I sure had his number).

I’m going to have to figure out (and stick) to a long-enough break away from my weekday work desk on a consistent basis, not least so I can get some steps in as much as I think it will be better for me to satisfy my curiosity about neighborhoods bordering the building. Options, have I but discipline!

A thirty-year-old hip-hop album soundtracked my morning commute, with not enough light in the east for sunrise but just enough traffic to cost me about a half-hour, and twice that crawling back onto the bridge to round a curve along the old Eastshore Empire before sliding home through surface streets.

The week hits different now, with Sunday gripping tighter and emptier and more remote, and the product of leaning into what light there is to start things off at the very height of the bright season, while winding up even as it feels like other things didn’t wind down so much as fall out of my hands.

Picked up my new glasses from the optometrist, got some shopping in, cleared out the drain, got a few extra hangers and tidied my closet, sorting for several items I don’t wear anymore and for multiple shirts that need dry cleaning. Then picked up A. and managed some more groceries. It was a weekend.

Stayed in, found one of those green scrubber pads and battled bathtub schmutz with elbow grease and absolutely no sensible technique or form, as well as Janelle Monae’s latest album. For a day of rest, progress will suffice and completion awaits, and my arms will thank me soon as their aches subside.

The first full week in the books, and a fair amount of countable effort still seems to have come to an unaccountable fortune, a suspended state of grace where I follow my feet places, greet more people than fewer who pick up what I put down, and throw myself at tasks with such different perspectives.