Just went outside to toss something into recycling, ice everywhere.

Must be 32 or lower.  Dishwasher running, forgot to activate it last night.  8:06am now, left bed at 7:40-something.  Two days from xmas, and I’m thinking of a gift for ME.  What…. This.  More of this kind of time.  Writing.  Finishing the book.

Okay okay OKAY…. Enough.  Wondering what I do today, int he AE story.  Just add business names to my list like some Ancient Roman architect building some structure that’s hopefully a forever structure.  OR, write the next year before it happens.  Will that work?

Head hurting a little. Think I had a glass of that over-naked Merlot too late.  Student just texts me an annoying question, if he can use a personal experience as an outside source.  Head hurts a little more.

Need to get out and run today.  Will, just not for a while.  Maybe around noon.  Or after.  I don’t care what the temp will be.  Tom Foreman runs when it’s 25 degrees or lower.  Another coffee chug and already thinking of the next cup.  That’s when you know you’re addicted.

Check work email, a thank-you note from Lexy, one of my referral partners and with whom I had the virtual happy hour night before last.  She said on the call she’s happy she made the move to the East Coast, and that she’s never been happier.  That she made the right move, that it’s an adventure.  Of course this makes me go into a whirling thought wave of possibility and adventure as a writer.  What next, what next…

Okay, I say to myself.  Today IS the day I leave this corner, even though I type here now.  Nothing on the surface, only below and in nice, proper stacks.

Want a shot of espresso.  Today is different I keep repeating to myself, as the Merlot’s hold is about to be broke.  Have an idea for a gift for self, subscription to the New Yorker…. Shit, where was that piece I was going to submit to them?  Found it, but need to edit.  And that one poem..  Work to do today as a writer, as an AE.  Being an AE for an internet company is just like being a writer.  In fact it’s more ‘writer’ than being an actual “writer”.

Seeing something, moving.  But needing espresso.  Or maybe I stick to coffee.  

Cripes it’s cold.