At peace with SELF today.  And it has nothing to do with the meeting tomorrow, or the text I got today from the recruiter lady in Vermont or wherever she lives.

ME… I am finally making myself happy.  Just being in the loft.  Writing about the most plain of things… a pen, a sheet of yellow lined paper, the cup that says “Writers Block: when your imaginary friends stop talking to you.”

At the store, so many people already.  Why isn’t anyone working right now?  Like I’m the one to fucking talk.  But the contradiction begets a lesson, something to look more into for me.  Reflection yes but illuminations and not in the trite way.  I am seeing me…

My habits, ways, daily movements and BEATS.  And some, I’m just choosing to stop.

Sip, listen to LoFi, read text from Nurse…. I am in this….

Story.  Condo.  Town.  Book.  Writer’s and dad’s life. There is no real interpreting to be done more so a relay of the reality, and reiteration of its quips.