Bulb On All The Way

Didn’t hit 3000 words yesterday.  Now in nook with espresso and thoughts about this entire day, to myself…. Looking at houses, moving money around for house.  Finish an essay, post to blog or….. I need to change some facets of my written form, I know.

7:41.  Earlier than I thought I’d be up.  Tired last night and not sure why.  Maybe ‘cause I didn’t answer the tempt to nap that I felt in later afternoon after company meeting.  Distracted by phone so I put it down.  What can I get done today….. what can I do different…?  Work at a Starbucks later like it were a weekday.  Okay… and work on what..?  Not writing here, more OFFBLOG notes.

About a thousand or so past budget for one project, I think.  Startup mode…. Where’s the Paris journal?  In backpack.  Take out, use new pen my realtor gave me, write plan.  Put more cash in safe…. The house I find and secure will be the startup hub for BDX.  The garage, or small office.  I have kids so I fear the garage could be a dangerous space to have sensitive documents or any equipment.  So no, one of the three rooms.

Would love a nook like this in the new house but odds are greater such won’t happen than will.  That’s fine.  A kitchen counter like the one here, or table, or island counter will more than do.

Distracted again, posting a couple suggestions reminding people of the #professormikey brand and BDX.

Distracted again, remembering I needed to get back to a student about a grade update.  Learned yesterday that when I leave the JC I get NO payout from sick or vacation time.  Actually I think she told me faculty get no vacation?  Or adjuncts don’t?  Is that right? Seriously, I’m done.  Focusing on MY business…. #professormikey needs more love, more attention and development.  More people call me that than my name of just Mike, so…. That says something to me.  Says several things to me, not just one voice or point.

I stop typing then tell myself to get back to it, like a mean and asshole-ish manager in a tasting room.  Huh, wonder who I could be talking about….  Write about it all.  Sunriver, the mornings there and how I’d type on that couch.  All these conversations, business and other…. Getting in front of the camera more, more filming, more media.  BDX being as much a media company as a publishing body. Again, ‘About EVERYTHING’.

Lights, illumination, on all the way – I SEE, EVERYTHING.  The Kerouac quote of the blank page and being able to do whatever you want.  8:04, espresso still in little red cup but not for long.  Texting Taryn, seeing if we’re still on for 3:30 to celebrate her new assignment.  Makes me want to go back to wine, or stay part-time like I am now but with more intensity.. then why not do it?  Ten posts, to #vinovinevin, today.  On anything.  Writing, pictures, media, whatever…. But back to her and her new gig, for Wilson’s book…. On list for day, BUY WINE.  Bottle Barn, no one winery.

Posted to vvv blog, something quick.  I’m more than merely motivated this morning.  It’s something else.  It’s eagerness or hunger, or maybe fear of not getting something done before leaving the planet.  I don’t know.  Don’t need to know…

Starbucks.  Get something for self and parents, why not.  Some breakfast whatever’s…   Immediately I’m pushed by the insistence of kindness, to commit and commit TO nice and loving acts for those showing me the same.  So, up and go…

…..

Back with breakfast for them, latte for me.  8:45.  Quick poem, done.  Need another journal I thought for poetry but then cleaning out the file box I brought over from the other house I found pages devoted ONLY to verse.  More poetry, I tell self.  And angrily.  Forcefully.  What happened to you?

Morning, perfect.  More than just “beautiful out”.  Today is promising me something, many things.  All poetic, all music, all MINE.

No tasting today with Chris, his mother in town.  No plans with other characters, so all me.  This entire day.  Wow, I say to self, when was the last….

Nothing to write, nothing to record.  Looking at houses and nothing, and I mean, really, NOTHING, grabbing me or even speaking softly.  Text real estate agent, and wait.  Latte waking me more than I already was.  Time to address money moment, pay one bill, then another…. Learn to cook, I note in Paris journal as I did the 1948 pages.  In this new life, COOK MORE. Anything.  PB&J, quesadillas, sandwiches, anything… avoid those heft restaurant checks and charges.  Headed into room to count.  Bring journal.  Sip latte first.  Maybe one more short poem.  Five lines…

……..

Cash counted, headed to bank.  9:53.  My only aim is the house.  MY, house.  MY. Office.  Where the real story leaves the ground for indefinite flight.

“Sunset, 4:55…” Dad says.  “Today?” I say.  “Today, that is correct sir…” He adds.  It’s the time of year where Fall dominates everything.  Mood and movement, sentences and sensibilities.  Putting off getting in car and depositing all these bills, why.  No idea.  Thoughts of wine again, selling, pouring my wines in other states, telling stories, the kids helping.