7-3-24
Training to start in a sec. In VV… air-conditioning comes on. Hotter than shit already.
Nurse and I have our coffee/morning meeting/date, and I feel more than strong and confident, fearless.
Everything is a story… there is opportunity in all rooms and conversations, objects… the Peet’s Nespresso pods on the shelf, the chairs we were sitting in. The same older men at their tables, joking and laughing and basking in their retirement freedom-peace-zen-comfort-carelessness…
Going into training with the fearless comedic side and interpretation. Like I will other matters, notably ones involving pestering swindlers, that only cartwheel and swine-mud-roll in their own embellishments and trickery. Truly the most motivating and enlivening, electric comedy that I can today see.
07:58… my energy is tireless, eager. BRING IT, I’m saying. I’m that type of writer this morning. Fuck the word count, I’m typing for as long as I feel it’s right. As long as it’s euphoric which it very much is.
Should let Oliver the pup back in, before it really gets fucking hot. Shit, “class” is about to start.
Let Oliver in, and class is rolling. Latte done. Will need more. K-cups, my only option.—OH, there’s that cold brew in the fridge, that I bought weeks ago.
Cold-calling, laughing about it. Can only have fun with it, the ‘all doors knocked’ posturing which not mere posturing. Keep moving, just do something, write something, keep moving. The formula is so simple it’s not even a fucking formula.