Quick power nap, now espresso.

Good sized contract landing, bringing me to I think 64% for the month.  Waiting on approval on a proposal to ICB.

Just noticed some clouds.  Seasons changing, without any ask of permission or allowance or assistance.

1:52 only…. Distracted by conversations, a couple of them.  Mom reminds me to not stress over quota, she’s right.  And I don’t anymore, remember reader?  COMEDY… like right now how I’m riding high from these two early sales in month then if there’s a dry spell or momentary drought as I call them I’m thinking about re-entering the wine industry.  You have to laugh, you have to.

What now… day still so young.  Jesus, still not 2.  Okay… do something.  What.  Idea…. Another…. Another….  What I write about.  Relationships.  Everything is about them.  Trying to get as molecular as I can with this day, this second, where I am and what I’m doing.

Need a conversation.  With self…. That “#selftalk” I always mention.  What do I want?  Don’t know. Where can I go?  Anywhere, the café in Cotati.  Yes, that is the plan.  Okay, when there, then what?  Write the café, have an association with the people there.  Give them stories, I start thinking but I’m not a fiction writer.  How I react to the people, the walls and tables, memories of me as an SSU student sometimes going there for lunch or to finish a paper, or some smaller assignment just wanting to get out of my on-campus apartment.  Seems like a millennium ago.

What always obstructs or “blocks” me when writing is thought.  Not even overthinking, just general thought.  Returning to conversations, new characters… where are they going, these back and forth words.  No idea, just keep them alive and loft.

No dating, just words.