Mom picks up Henry. Time to self. And I mean, real time to self. Running my life and business(es) like an MSP. Hurried and rushed, but organized, concise. No need for long exhaustive essays that some authors are convinced you want to read.
You guessed it, more espresso. Speaking to myself, like I’m int he classroom. Alchemist on brain still, the young boy and his heard, the lessons from the world around me.. this room, the little cup, these laptops, the MSP… the job before, and Sonic before that.
Everything moving me toward IT… the music I can only hear as I hear, MY Beat… thought about a quick nap but I’m far too jazzed and high on espresso. Maybe not high, but you know. Typing like a madman, returning to my authors.. Hemingway when he saw the lady walk into the café, his observations of his friends, his son and wife…
Kerouac on the Road, and now me on mine going into this new year, and all those wanting me to slow or stop or suffer. They don’t know me, my character and its new composition.