Three days left in year. Today counted. Coffee in nook at work. Break before work, or work before work depending on how it’s looked at. As I noted yesterday, again I caved, having lunch at a nice spot actually on I believe 4th and Balboa— sorry, 5th and Balboa. Don’t regret the chicken sandwich and fries I had with co-workers, friends. But I should have gone to café. Of course today I set out for same, but I dismiss the dilemma and set self in now where I’m set in this nook, at this new table and chair, writing spot for a writer going into a new year, on his second cup, made in the back office where you proceed down a somewhat sizable hall with glass offices on either side, then that one magical room with the coffee.
Phone, journal on desk, or table, right now it’s my desk or that’s what I have self convinced of. Writing meditation, the morning, Saturday, next three days off with the new year cartwheeling toward my pages. Not only learning, I always say that— but instructed by the intersection of one year, then another. Me growing in story and character… we all grow, or don’t. That’s a decision. Yesterday at California and 7th, “Not everyday’s a treasure chest but work feverishly to get what you get.” Jotted before crossing street to next block where reps were speaking to people at their doors, remembering Plath’s words in Bell Jar chanting ‘I am I am I am’ in every street pavement square and at every stoplight.
Music in everything. If we don’t see IT that way, then we’re only living, going to work then coming home and sleeping. The worker shouldn’t see work as work— they shouldn’t work, they should be passion explorers, and if they don’t like their job, their “work”, make it something’s that not only liked but layered in love, loved.