impatience I feel before next week’s meeting is crippling. Unable to turn it off, honestly. Focus on the coffee. The sales thing is all but dead so that should’t be stressing me at all.
Like I’m writing a new book, a new ME, frankly. Nurse in the shower, Henry watching a Lego cartoon, and me with some time to SELF. I need this time, this sequestering in the office.
09:46… Cup I’m using this morning, reading “Yes, I speak Kerouac.” Trying to be more like the Beat of Beats this morning, putting words between myself and anything that doesn’t build and contribute to elevation.
Next week is where I present the new story – new intentions and aims, conviction and Composition. Can’t get too far ahead of myself. But it’s on me, that much I DO know. It’s all on me, with this Story. With anything, really.
Observing myself with no tags, no categories or judgment. Just me and a meditation, quiet, and of course coffee. DO THE WORK, I tell myself. To get There, my There… the place where so many stresses and angsts just fade into nonexistence.