Home… a little wine, not much, and the floor. Me typing. Words… getting paid at midnight via direct-dep’ but we all know that’s gonna be bullshit. Shouldn’t be writing this on blog, but what else can I do at my old age? What do I have to lose? Not sure at the moment, ready for bed I feel like but the other side of my pseudo-collective feels’s though I have so much more work to do. Wait…. DO I have the day off tomorrow? Wasn’t supposed to work today but messaged in this morning to let them all know I was available. I’ll get to relax later in life. Right now I want to work. I want to encourage people to do what they want and make money from it. First, though, I know, I have to practice what I preach. So I think ‘value’… what’s the value in what I do as a writer/copywriter? I take that act off their, the owners’ hands. Okay… so get that out there… have fun with it, be crazy and wild with it. Make it funny.. and fun. I will, but I’m feeling rather low this night. Have to raise the character, this aging writing somehow.
Just thought of it. 4AM. My most vehement of rivals. Always say I’m going to wake at the hour and I don’t and I wind up resenting myself for who knows how long and forgetting the potential of that hour. Woke up this morning at 3-something, after having to help Jackie get cozy in his bed. (He always calls for Daddy, which I love.) Time…. Everything is time. Thought of fitness, how I’m not running as much as I’d like and how I could work out here, downstairs in my own goddamn home, like my student from last semester always telling us how he wakes up at 03:45 and hits the gym for over an hour…. Okay, so… tomorrow morning that’s me. Core exercises for at least an hour… arms, chest, abs. This will encourage words. Fuck it, I’m just going to do it. No more promissory— well, that is promissory. You know what I mean.
No more wine for the evening. Just thoughts. Not plans, ‘cause those are now illegal. Just action… wildness and whimsicality. Wine hasn’t had much a presence in my day, in terms of sipping. Even with that man from Florida earlier, the Québécois chap, I didn’t sip much, much I wanted. Lancaster is a winery I have a more-than-hard time spitting. Why? So many reasons. That dark depth and the smoky form of its every sensory inch. Lancaster wine is more than wine…. It’s defiance. A tasty consistency and structure and intersection you’re not used to, trust me. I have nothing to lose, I’m tonight realizing, thinking more about myself and what I have to do to get to where I want to be and see what I want to see. I keep coughing, remnants from this unexpected June cold I had, which I could have sworn was allergy. How did I get on this topic? ‘Cause I just coughed. Nothing funny about this… but then I think, as a copywriter, how would I sell the sound of my coughs? WHAT?