Budget done. Call done.

Now another writing break before a bit more emailing, then…. Run or lunch?  Thinking lunch, punch— I mean punish self for not working out this morning.  Saw one of my neighbors outside sitting, taking a breather after his morning workout.  Made me feel like shit… so now, I need to run.  Eat lunch after.  Salad.

Temp is already 81.  See?  There I go making excuses… maybe I need a heat run, sweat a bit, or a lot.  I can’t decide.  Quiet house—  Need to write plan for tonight.  Will after this paragraph.  Or the next one.  Thinking more and more than writer’s block could be real, that I could be the problem.  Thinking about writing and playing by too many rules, not seeing humor as I promised myself I would.  One thing I think is actually quite humorous is how people’s encouragement can be predictable.  Without getting into specifics naming names or quoting, just imagine the same thing being said.  Over and over.  And it’s meant to encourage or motivate, or heighten your spirit.  They just keep saying the same thing, self-convinced it’ll work.  Even, “You can do it!” Said over and over, when clearly it’s not working or the person can’t do what they’re being encouraged to do… I don’t know, it’s just funny to me.  You see it in sales, A LOT.  And I just can’t wrap my head or hearing around it.  Maybe if I surrendered my brain, and hearing, self-respect, and everything including my writing habits, reading…. I don’t know, maybe that would work.

This isn’t me, this entry, the above.  But, a question.  Making fun of the teaching thing, anymore.  The excitement these full-time instructors and adjuncts express at the beginning of a new semester, when my mood is more, “Ugh, yeah… this, again.”  That could be age, that could be me from being in this goddamn house for so long, could be the covid world, a sales quota in addition to “teaching” JC students.  I have no idea anymore.

Think I might just need a run.  Or lunch.  This house is taunting me… it’s alive I think.

I don’t actually.  Just trying to be witty, different.  Not bored with my own pages.  And I have been lately.  If I were a reader, I’d probably light on fire the last 100,000 words.

I’m making ME feel like shit.  Stop.

Thought of a book title.  Not writing it here.  Shit.. wrote it in the wrong journal.  Damnit, why did I do that?

GO GET LUNCH.

It’s 11:32, too early.

Then shut up.

You’re right.

Who the fuck am I talking to? The page, maybe.

Still haven’t sent that letter to the wine writer.  Think the letter’s done.  I’ll read it one more time, then….. I don’t know.  Guess work. I am on the clock, technically.  Okay, so I’ll do that.

I need to get tired for the Prius.  That goddamn PRIUS.  I don’t even know how to write about that thing, I deplore it so loudly.  Waiting till covid settles down a bit before getting a new ship.  What should I get…. That’s what I could do, now… go car shopping.  Or, virtually.  Where do I start.  How about a…. ‘nother Prius?  Think they’d give me a deal?  Like I’m some loyal customer, Prius-lover-buyer person?  No, I hate Prius as a company, car, idea, and any piece of of its piece-of-shit brand in my future.

EAT YOU SALAD.  NOW.