Alice out running an errand, giving me a bit of time to collect while my little Emma-saur’ upstairs sleeps. Smooth drop-off for little Kerouac, bag packed for workday, easily over a thousand words.. should start drafting writing schedule, just one BIG thing a day if I can.
Balanced all my budgets, and I’m probably in the best place financially that I’ve ever been, that I can remember recently. But I need to bridge these payday gaps with selling a physical piece of writing.. my ‘Wild Wine Journalism’, self-publish and distribute however I can and don’t let it, EVER, be reduced to some piece of merchandise on a shelf in some store or in a tasting room somewhere (like at the last winery, those books, one of them I think called ‘vit lit’ or something, just there on the merch table, doing nothing, not being read, making me sad, saying to myself “that’ll never be me nor my work). They have to pay, provide currency. So the newsletter idea I had yesterday, that I would pay for to set up and not generate any funds from, now deadened. At least for a minute…
Two minutes past ten. Going to check on Emma..
Wishing I could sleep like her.
I go back up to snap a quick pic with my phone. Want to capture as much I can of this time, her being a baby before she’s a walking, talking, arguing child like Jack. And with him, my little beat prince, the time literally transported me into the future, four years next month. How. So unfair but I know it’s part of the equation, what we sign up for being Human Beings.
Am I ready for work. No.. shower, more coffee, put this laptop in bag. And pens. Do I have any pens?
I go on ‘wine jobs’, the website, for comedy’s relief, and the descriptions of the jobs and how lazily they’re written, demonstrating no proficiency or ability to communicate in written form which many require of candidates, does just that; provide comedy. A blizzard of it.