Quick call with a client, doesn’t need anything I offered him.  Okay, I thought.. onto next.

Big data scrubbing project I have to get started on, but not now.  No way.. that’s not in the plan for the afternoon, at all.

Instrumentals… with echoes and jazz notes, chords, riffs.  May go to bank, move more money for business and another project.  But then I remember me noting myself the other day, “Don’t count” or “STOP COUNTING!” Agreed.  Writing more notes to self in journal, trying to push back any would-be ebbs low.

Reading a couple books, one Lawson and the other Crosley.  Touch and go with Irby…. Want to read more but it’s hard finding time.  Sound like an excuse, and it is.  A bad one at that.  Wait, no, in fact it’s not a fucking excuse at all.  It’s some lame voiced and here written evasion.  You have time to read…. “Hope Is The Thing With Feathers”, Emily Dickinson.  Just read.  Don’t think I have before, but she has me wondering what next steps are, how I define hope, where it’s found…. The feathers.