Need to do more journal writing. More notes to self.  I am going to grab another legal pad, after all.

Haven’t noted any notes.  Not one.  Couple more calls then I’m switching gears, to something else.  Planning on getting out of the office more, next week.  Have more meetings, just get out of the office.  3:25pm, and I need more coffee.  Need, but not letting self have one.  Honestly not sure what I’m doing for the rest of this day.  Writing, writing about writing, new notes on these legal sheets. About writing, about teaching self to write all over again.  Responding to readings, book Mom bought me and the re-read of Road.  Coffee cup on desk now is old, with old coffee in it from the morning.  Gross to look at.  Thinking of a topic, and that would be writing, wine, writing about wine, how the wine writes the writing, or at least with me.  My first note on the first yellow sheet, first thin blue line.

I’m always timestamping and dating entries.  What if I didn’t do that anymore.  What if I only knew what the time and date were but didn’t disclose it, or didn’t as much?  I don’t know, something I’m thinking about.

And again the idea hits me of super exclusive writings, sold.  No more than 35 pages.  Between 25-35 pages of prose.  No more.  Have it be like a reserve list writing release sphere.  Chewing this new piece of gum and resisting temptation to hit more coffee, which would be my third cup of day, I saw the small manuscripts, which I would email to subscribers.  What about… wine.  Writing.  Life.  Work.  Everything.  Not about one particular thing, or maybe that’s precisely what it should be.  Start at wine and extend from there.  Yes.  The all comes from last night’s Pinot, in many ways I feel.

The legal pad will be an exercise to itself, to fill it.  Three lines in, nearly.  About boredom.  What I wrote about, I mean.  Boredom is a choice, not the result of something that was done to someone, or the lack of anything.  Just a thought.