A plotting morning at Lucky Bat was so immersive that when I looked up, all the clocks/watches/devices said 2 o’clock.
Teeth gritted, this week I’m pursuing the history of aspects of reactors, their economics and climate change amelioration. I’m deep into mtco2e, ¢/kWhr & $/kW. Phew!
I’m working quite hard but not, perhaps, on the main thing. It’s always a puzzle: what to do right now, what to do tomorrow . . . what plans to put in place, how to get them launched.
I wrote a while back about Bronson Botha and his “500 days of sobriety.” I’d interviewed him. His resoluteness has lingered with me, and after posting recently about my love of wine “in moderation” and my qualms, I decided to banish wine for a while. This would be my own, more modest, stretch of abstinence. I called it my “X days of sobriety.”
Why not put a number to X, say 5 or 50 or 500? Why not just do Dry July and its 31 alcohol-free days? The answer is simple: I’m conflicted, don’t know what I should do, and have little faith in my willpower on this issue.
I haven’t even been prepared to put a name to this period until now. I haven’t drunk wine since Saturday the 3rd, so X is already 10. 10 days: what will it grow to?
Intrusive trill of bedside iPhone alarm . . . how sweet a sleep-in would be! But routine has worn a groove into your psyche, and you know a late start will annoy the heck out of you. Remember, Andres, how you glowed last night after a dragon-slaying day? Rise.
Nippy winter’s day, pleasantly aching legs . . . I know this is a very Melbourne thought, but the perfect accompaniment to drafting immersion would be a cappuccino. But it’s a fasting day.
Still, a sharp espresso will surely do the trick?
Bedlam this week . . . so many thrilling work choices that my mind cannot rest.
After an early jog (overriding my Writing Big Year stipulation of nothing but writing), I’ll bundle up Chapter 6’s data and head to Bar Ristretto.