Putting everything into blog, I’m thinking. Don’t worry about books. Not now. In fact, fuck books. Put every thought, musing, note, picture, frustration and mood and every minute and micro-moment into the world. That’s what I’m going to do, as this bottled ox character I’ve created. Or maybe not even created but put to page.
My thoughts and mood this morning elevate. Leading self away from any nay-say, that’s for sure, that’s wha’s needed for the day. Day starts in just under 15 minutes, and I think I’m finally ready. Wow… this is my disposition, now. Right now, at present. I wrote myself out of my funk… forgetting I’m 39. Well, not really, just not seeing it as I did, did just this morning.
Had another idea. Not going to inject it into this entry, but I’m bubbling, electric and of high creative and expressive voltage. Reciting more and more to self from core, singing in this room to self… nothing will halt or dilute my character, today.
Mike Madigan, pages and pages. When tasting through the wines, I’ll write. When opening umbrellas outside, write. Vineyard walk, write. Write everything. Holy shit, life is short I’m realizing nearly in some panic at this polished oak table, but oh well, I write through it as I did my mood this morning. Money’s tight, but I don’t care, I don’t concern self with any of that money talk, the digits, account balance… none. of. that.
Only this. This elevated mood and self statement that I punctuate and paginate at bizarrely eager rate. Everything into blog. Everything into the moment I’m in no matter how seemingly boring or monochromatic. I think of a friend who died recently, a few years ago…. I’m here, him no. So I live for him, for me, for the moment and current breath. All yay, never another nay.