La vie.  Être heureux.

In office, watching rain outside door decorate the scape.  Not in the mood to work as much I am to just write.  Goal for day is 3 pages and one salable piece.  Chipping away at the 4-shot mocha, and thinking of where to take the morning’s urges next.  Think I’m trying to start too quick, too quick.  Not a problem as that’s part of learning your writing pace and piece as a creator..

This morning is entirely about understanding where I am and that I have my health, that I’m alive and will stay alive for my wife and babies, take care of them in all parcels of reality, finish my books, continue this Ox’s blog and be alive forever in some creative tumble.  Listening to a Thievery Corporation remix.. and I think— MUSIC.  Not DJing, but having music be more part of what I do, keep track of what I’m listening to, playing, new artists I discover, and how I am one of them, those artists, with my spoken word pieces that I’ll soon read.  And that’s it, music brought me to another realization— the salable piece today will be a poem, 3 pages, intermittent riming, written to something either by Hutcherson or Coltrane.

Mother-in-law told Jack how she woke at 4AM, already has 4 walking miles under her belt for day.  Not that she was, but I felt she was poking at me, encouraging me, telling me something like ‘See, Mike, if I can do it you should be doing it as well.’ If that is was part of her cogitation, then she’s right.  But even if it’s not, which it’s not, then I learn further, the boon in waking at a cruel hour like that, get so much done before the day even thinks of starting, before it has any type of chance to get ahead of you.

Breaking for a bit to get some work done.  Will return to piece in a bit.  Have to jet to downtown Healdsburg to get some collateral, and while down there I’m sure I’ll envision and imagine where I want my office.  Right on the Square, or just off?  MY, office…

Back from the trip downtown, and folding some collateral into small envelopes, doing as much as I could before going completely mad, the writer’s back at his laptop for just a breath, before more winery work.  Not raining right now, and I would be ever thankful if that way it stayed, so I could get in a vineyard walk, take some pictures…  Music back on, ideas for courses fly through my head like birds racing each other.  Hear nothing but this music and the typing of my own keys… look down at all the cords on this desk, the two laptop screens.  Wonder if the owner would let me keep this office when mmc, “mikemadigancrEATive”, really gains altitude.  I’d be happy to pay rent.  Just thinking, and writing down whatever comes to the writer’s thought plate.  Happy in this office— reminds me of my answer when people ask me, “So what do you write about?” Life.  Being happy.  Before ‘writing’ itself, or wine, running, parenting (even though my babies are well over 90% of what makes me happy, and love life as I do).  Just “Life.  Being happy.”