the loft, in the Paris cup. Then we go on and on and back and forth about our honeymoon and what we want to do once on the Parisian concrete and cobblestones.
This morning speaking to me now in another mode and manuscript of Hi-Fidelity beats. So fucking grateful. And goddamn me, the Mike Madigan that lets those low self-estimations and moods overtake him. I’m stubborn today and with sterling conviction.
Writing for my life but already in that writing life. Hard to explain. 09:19…. Straight to typing, no journal scribbles yet. Seeing this telecom shit as a game. Stay alive just long enough, be an actor, write where you can. Write business owners and see if a different opportunity forms.
Meeting yesterday with an old college buddy… did NOT see that coming. All the mutual know’s, and stories, laughs… Again, no need to wish for anything. The Story is gifting me everything I need. OR, it already has.
Right now… sitting in this office, GRATITUDE. Don’t let yourself get frustrated, Mike.