8/10/19

Day 8 of this project, which I now see taking shape.  Find self alone in home, with babies and wife at fair.  Was invited, but wife urged me stay home, enjoy my only and first day off in however many weeks.  Have other laptop out, to go through some pictures.  Thinking of going somewhere, tasting, but where.  Possibly inspiration, or maybe just get a beer at Moonlight.  Not in the mood to run, although I know I need one.  Didn’t sleep all that well, in fact went back upstairs this morning for a bit over 90 minutes for added still.  What do I do, what do I do….  How about stop thinking, and just do.  Don’t want to drive out to St. Francis, I know it’ll be a mad house, a matter hatter wonderland den there.  Trust me I know… having worked in that tasting room for a handful of weekends (over two years worth).

This project, or part of its bend and send is to see what I produce in a hundred days.  The end aim, get on the Road, either for Sonic or myself, wine, or ideally all somehow.  Break the repetition of repetition.  Short entries, more “real time” reporting.  Covering self as not myself.  Mike Madigan a self-examining journalist, or diarist.  Something like that.  There needs to be a change in the story and in Mike Madigan’s character.  Day eight is our fist unearthed gem—Markers.  The first marker, the project itself.  100 days, a book.  What’s at the end, an airplane to somewhere, for something that WILL be written.

Quiet on this street.  Hear wind, and chimes, gongs more so.  Get out of the house, I tell myself.  Be in prospecting mode, but not obviously.  Here I go… into the day, into the new story of something that’s not yet telling me everything.

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mikemadigan

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