8:05am. Little over 30 minutes to write. Need another cup. No mocha from the coffee pimps, this morning. Although I can absolutely see mySelf getting one on the way up to AV. Finished the novelette in chapbk1. 30 pages. But now, I find mySelf still. Why? Was one such a stream, for this morning’s initiating hours. Have to write though it. Did I rise at 6:30? Yes and no. The alarm went off, but I silence it, laid head back into my new pillow, which is like a tranquilizer with its boastfully round being, buoyant bottom. Head down, I’m OFF. Anyway, I didn’t fall back to sleep. Heard Little Kerouac singing in the next Room. Went to care for him, with Alice’s lead of course, and returned to write. Been in session since early minutes of hour 7.
If only I could stay home all day. Just write…
Back again from a performance from the little Artist. Would love to know what he’s singing, what his message is to his inexperienced audience. Coffee’s beginning to ware. Or is it “wear,” as in wear off? … It’s “wear.” Okay. Need another cup. And a full day off. Want a week off. In the Mediterranean. Scribble every intricacy I can find. Wouldn’t care about sentences, paragraphed formalities. I’d just jot. Notes. Adventure, much as I hate the word. Enough of the wish list, need to get into character for the day. Wait, though, aren’t I there already?
Deciding not to kill the other blog, after all. That “wine blog.” Going to build it, as I initially wanted to. Turn it into some kind of wine business, of my own. Just a blog, no needed loans, consultants. Online retail, DTC, journalism, maybe all of that. Don’t know. It’s just a baby, and I have to let it grow as it will. I’ll provide guidance, but ultimately it’s not my direction that’ll matter. The business itself will steer the decided direction of its own vessel. Wine Bar beats playing, but I can’t get too relaxed. Need to get ready for day, be “responsible,” much as I want to really be a defiant Artist and just stay in this chair.