Also today, experimenting with a book selling business. On eBay. See how it goes. So far no one has viewed the books I’ve posted, but I’m not bothered or discouraged. Not yet. This inspired by wife selling old clothes of babies, to her mommy mafia partners, or associates. I don’t know how to define or tag them, give them any moniker or whatever. Finally quiet in the house. Of course thoughts from a writing daddy, his only day off with family and no regrets or resentment but I needed this time, this time to write, to do what I do. Write. That’s it. Everything else is a support of this, of me.
If I don’t run then I’ll write, which is much like running intuit you want to hit some mile or distance catch. Wine, now paired with the last piece from the kids’ side of last night’s pizza. All cheese. Paired with now a cold SB glass, perfect. Wonder if there’s a football game on. More goals for these closer-to-40 pages… watch more sports. Write about sports. Write about music. Buy more music. Make more music. Write about everything. Next time someone asks you what you write about, just say ‘Whatever I’m in in the mood for.’
The wine and pizza are like music, like a Coltrane code and album, just jam session. Thinking I may deliberately not work out tomorrow morning and just write. Or… shit I don’t know. Not enough time. No there’s plenty. Okay then… run, but only for an hour. Hour and five minutes which includes the belt’s cool-down offering. Then come home and write at least a hundred words. I shaved about an hour ago, so all I’d have to do is put out clothes tonight and readying tomorrow morning should be cake’s most loving and jazzy of walks.