Harlequin Talk, Seated Walk

635am. Can’t fall back into sleep. Just waiting for Jack’s first calls.
812am. Waiting for drinks. Hopefully these 3 shots will pull, push, prompt me through day. Character from yesterday, out here in California from Atlanta, Georgia, for 3 weeks on business. Made me think of my travels, my roads, flights.. When do I get to see them? I’m getting impatient.

Note: stop writing on this bloody phone. It’s not writing.

950– already exhausted, at work, trying to move a table. Sun showing me vineyard differently, earlier rise–

645p. Unwind, IPA. tired but more connected, literate, than twelve hours past. This entry, valueless. Me, a Mike mess. Two days off, with nothing off about either. Writing novel, about her. Have been, but I restart more officially 2nite… Already see her on couch, room quiet, no music or morning news, sketching. No project minded, just enjoying Art for Art. The process more than the project, or result.