inward jot

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Fund Other Subject

Client writing.  In home office.  Time set for 4 hours, see all I can get done.  Have 3 hours, 23 minutes left.  Coffee from Whole Foods on Yulupa tasted like shit.. young kid remaking it after I told him it was cold.  “You said ‘extra whip’, right?” He said.  “No.  I didn’t.” I jabbed.  And even if I did, what the fuck would that have to do with the temperature of the cup?  Anyway I’m here suffering through it, writing about wine-food pairings, and the ideas fall on me like the rain the last few days.  Have to go to the bookstore on campus, in a bit.  Should that be part of my 4 hours, or should I do it after?

Done with draft.  Almost.  Then have another client to write for, one I’m not charging that much which may have been a mistake, but.. well.. here I am.  Going to need a break in a minute.  Listening to Hutcherson— or Coltrane, rather— enjoying being a writer but have so much in my head that… that… ugh, I’m a little lost but found at the same time, concurrent with the life I’m targeting.  Traveling, teaching.  Class, tomorrow.  Day 3 of this semester and lecturing on HST’s ‘F&L/Vegas’.  Feel bad shortening the title but I’m short on time.  You do what you can, in business.  Learn along the way.

More than ever, I need an office.  Something offsite, away from home where I’m isolated and separate from home clutter.  Not that bad in here, but enough to stress me or/and distract me.  Three hours, exactly, remaining.  Have to write this bio really quick, then be on the writer’s way.  Should buy myself lunch today, no?  Where should I go?  Sandwich?  Brunch?

You should see me now, with three projects going.  I’m on my way to the Road… my story as a writer/blogger/business bloke… quicker, quicker.  The peace in this house can’t be over-appreciated.  I keep moving.  Moving with all I have and know, writing and recording everything, everything.

Last sip of that putrid mocha.. ugh, thank the Craft.  Couldn’t stand another sip of that thing.  Yes, ‘thing’.  Not sure what he did to it, and I don’t want to know.  Was it soy milk?  I don’t care.  Fuck it—  Never going there again.  Should go get a book, really quick.  Then come back.  What else can I get done today?  Know what I absolutely have to get done…. Reasoned, need a break, going for a drive, will get something to eat and bring it back here.  Have to move and work and live quick.  That’s how I’ll get my office, that’s how I’ll get to the Road.  This home office, today at least, is an incubator of sorts— where the writer self-nurtures, grows, measures and fires.  What I’m learning is to think less, just jump.  If I don’t, I’ll never fly.  Monday’s motivation begins to take hold, and I mean REALLY take hold.  2 hours, 37 minutes more.  Soar.

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