More coffee…
Brought cup downstairs from loft, the cup that boasts on side “Yes, I speak Kerouac.” Bought it at the beginning of covid, when still living with kids and that ex. Seems like another life, another person. Need to speak more like Kerouac and write like him as well. Think the way he did, perception and response – live more and write after…
Last night having dinner at Himalayan restaurant down the street with winemaker friend, talking about wines we’d make and if they had their own label what would its intention be, varietally. Then about their mother and how she passed last year I believe, how today is her birthday. Can’t imagine.
Life and how fragile it is…. No words. Why not SELF-care everyday, I reason. So true.
No plans tonight, keeping it that way. 9:03, sipping coffee slow and about to send numbers to a prospect. What’s next for me in this story, the AE pages. Can’t slow down, allow self to be disconnected or disenchanted. My own music, today made and concurrently played.