3/13/17, journal

Haven’t written a fucking thing today.  Disgusted.  Will wake tomorrow that giant that can only write and sell.  Will have time to do both.  Plan to on coffee overdose.  Sipping a Lagunitas now, one of their obscure projects.  Sell.. sell…..  SELL.  Everything.  That’s the answer.  Clients that leave me, I didn’t need in the initial, especially if they’re haphazard with decisions and crisscrossing all sensibilities and have an office that looks like a clerical nightmare-heap.  I’m in a state of rebellion, of war, of the creative.  On floor in home office with silence but the dryer upstairs blares and somehow the babies stay asleep.  Had a microwave dinner as it was quick and I could get to my work, here on this wood floor.  Seeing my dream house in Carmel, going onto the porch to look at the ocean and sip a new Zin my sister made.

Challenge to Self, for morrow—  Do something lucratively drastic.  SELL.  Drastically…. People love to brag that they’re in sales & marketing but have know idea what goes into marketing anything, including themselves.  My pictures from today, the vineyards.. tell me to GROW.  Just put everything out there.  Party on page, with your thoughts and sights of your home in the Carmel Valley—  Sell your sight, your pages and literary form.

If you’re reading this, don’t just “Like” it.  Comment, respond, react, connect.  Creativity and conversation solve everything.  Everything.

Can feel myself tiring and I know I have class early, but I don’t care.  I’m free in this evening and in my writing, in this beer, remembering the wines I tasted this morning— all SB’s but still with character and visible contrast between them.  I partially blame the tasting for my non-written day but know it’s illogical.

Now eating kettle corn for night’s cap, and about to brew coffee for tomorrow.  This Monday, may have won, now I think about it.

 

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