My average has dropped. Need to be better about writing, and only on this laptop. Take it with me to the city, not have lunch with anyone. Just go to the Starbucks on California and write – stories, essays, notes, EVERYTHING. On wine and prop tech…
Errands, get cash, go to store for kids. This entire Saturday will be spent in condo. I’ll take my self to lunch then come back… need to fit in a run somehow. My running life has to be restarted… it’s maddening. Fucking commute. Don’t get me started. The traffic last night, but what could I do but have fun with it. #professormikey playlist on, and dance in my seat from the bridge to the Novato Narrows.
In office. Ignoring the clutter, and the rest of the condo. I am here and only here. STOIC.
Submitted expenses, see how long it takes to have them approved. Not tressing about it. But yes I am.
Feel scattered and disorganized, Mikey-A-Mess. Sip coffee, relax… forget about it, forget EVERYTHING. I’m here, at this desk, space heater, coffee, me and thought.
Some music, Boozoo Bajou. Mood appropriate. Writing myself toward a vineyard, closer.