Quiet in the house, cat outside… need to move around.  Becoming a writer different and varied.  Making fun of myself more, and this current campaign of wanting to be happy at work as I inch toward 46, the story that’s more than a STORY.

Learning through my own writing that if you’re thinking too much, or really even at all about what to put to page then you need to back off.  Focus on the boring, the seemingly non-amusing attributes.

Make it exciting or at the least engaging.  Coffee, or really espresso, for this writer… mornings like this where you have a great call and you know everything is about to get better.

This outside sales shit, is a deathtrap and soul-slicing act.

No more.

DONE.

Or I’m not.  In fact, I’m not at all… waging a war of sorts on this phylum of vocation.  Not the people, but the idea.  OR.. just my unfettered reaction to it.

Sales… BLEH.  Disgusting.  Quota, funnel, leads, forecast – four corners of degradation, sullen-stink, and a hilarity hole.

Feels great to write this, if you want to know my honest ruth right now sitting in the Nurse’s house, at this desk, or OUR desk.  She doesn’t like when I use language that isn’t unifying, one of the thousands of dimension dousing me more in a paralyzed smitten soul.

Even if I were performing better, I’m certain that my estimation of the immediate would be anything but starry.