25-4-19-Sa
109 ⏳ 256 🗓️ W16
RMSDJ 📖 ✍🏽
🌡️77° – 51° 🟡
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✍🏽 Drift, Discipline & Da Vinci
I awoke early—6:47 to be precise—but lingered in the space between sleep and waking, that half-lit threshold where dreams dissolve and reality waits. I drifted, unmoored, back into slumber, only to rise again at 9:05, surprised by the passage of time, as though it had tiptoed past while I remained suspended in stillness.
The morning unfolded with its usual rhythm: stretches, breath, and that slow awakening of the body that invites gratitude. I thought about the good—about the weight and wonder of completing Volume I: Questions of Value. It stands now not as a project, but as a testament. A contribution. A quiet beacon, forged in solitude, destined to outlive its author. I feel that. I feel its echo already stirring beyond me.
Yesterday’s call with Mike Kia carried the sharp tang of reality. He offered a proposed split—70/30—favoring Beachfront Properties. At this juncture, I’ll take what I can. If the settlement falls between $100,000 and $200,000, I will consider it fair, even if I suspect it may fall short. Still, something is owed. Not for aspiration, but for the daily wear of habitability—the leaks, the mold, the broken promises of shelter. That, at least, has a value.
Mike and I must speak again soon. There is nuance here, the kind that law rarely captures but life remembers.
Admittedly, I felt a pang of disappointment—no, not sorrow, but a muted ache—for not writing more in my diary. Questions of Value absorbed me entirely. But now the pendulum swings back, and other projects call: a long-overdue review of Love, Death & Robots on Netflix, a retrospective of Do the Right Thing, and a meditation on 1923—Paramount’s gritty and evocative saga that deserves its due. The work remains, and I return to it with eagerness.
Later in the afternoon, I sank into the Jacuzzi for 45 unhurried minutes, letting the heat unknot my muscles while Walter Isaacson’s voice unspooled the final chapters of Leonardo da Vinci. Genius, curiosity, and obsession—Da Vinci did not live around life but through it. He sketched the muscles of man and the flight of birds with equal reverence. Isaacson reminded me that true creativity often lies not in invention but in the meticulous observation of what we dare not overlook. I plan to share these insights with Azra; they will nourish her hunger for learning, as they nourished mine.
To my culinary astonishment, the lasagna—rescued from the deep crypt of my refrigerator where it had slumbered for months—was not only edible but delicious. A gustatory resurrection. I’ve resolved: going forward, all prepackaged delights from Costco will be preserved in freezer bags, sealed like scrolls, and tucked into the freezer—perhaps the wisest $200 I’ve ever spent. That machine prolongs the life of nourishment, and sometimes, of intention.
Later, I watched the Clippers relinquish a winnable game to Denver. It was a tight contest, poorly sealed. Kawhi Leonard played with the kind of elegant restraint that makes chaos look like choreography. Nikola Jokić, enigmatic as ever, missed three free throws in the final moments—proof that even the masters falter under pressure. Still, I believe the Clippers will recover and take the next in Los Angeles. Defense will decide this series.
I spoke at length with Anna and Brian, leasing agents at Meridian Point. We circled around the dismissal of Jonathan—the man whose flirtations through text escalated into something darker. I had warned him, gently, a week prior. He didn’t listen. When Anna arrived, his interest was immediate, too eager, and too practiced. She said nothing—but her silence carried weight. The kind that ends careers. We pivoted to lighter ground, discussing the Easter message I’d sent out. They appreciated it—thoughtful, they said. Necessary, even.
Later, I ventured to LA Fitness for a modest workout—abdominals and spinning. Enough to sweat, enough to reset. I left quickly, compelled by hunger and the quiet joy of anticipation. I stopped by Walmart for spinach, grapes, and cheese—essentials now that my tastes lean toward simplicity. I kept to the list, spent precisely $36, and was out within 25 minutes. I’m more focused now. Purposeful.
From there, I stopped at Ace Hardware—nestled in the shopping center that once housed Toys “R” Us. I purchased a modest clamp for the aerator. A small device, easily overlooked, but perhaps the very thing to prevent another eruption when the water pressure surges. Sometimes, peace is mechanical. And sometimes, salvation comes not with trumpets, but with tubing.
The day passed not in grandeur, but in calibration. I didn’t seize the day—I aligned it. Between creation and stillness. Between Leonardo’s sketches and lasagna’s steam, there was life—quiet, textured, precise. As the old saying goes, I kept my powder dry—resisting the pull of extravagance, choosing instead the slow burn of preparation.
Augustine once observed, The soul is restless until it rests in Thee. Today, I felt that rest—not in withdrawal, but in motion directed inward. In tasks made holy by their intent. In quiet victories no one sees but which shape the soul all the same.
RMSDJ.
RMS INSIGHTS ✍🏾 