bottledaux
By anyone, anything, in any consideration.
No matter how hard these devils try.
I’ve stopped listening. And deciding to STOP interacting.
And seeing them acknowledge how puny and powerless they are, is entertaining to me.
Not trying to sound like a tough guy, but rather letting the world know I’m a terrifically tenacious writer, and will NOT be stopped, unless I fucking decide to stop.
Today I’m recalibrating. The negative, THAT, that thing, that voice, that blathering serpent always returning, today silenced. Or at least… asked politely to step outside, have a snack, and another, I know you won’t object.
And don’t come back fucking in.
Time to dig in, I said to myself. SELF-Care and more composed this morning, working on the book but not stressing myself out about it – Publisher giving me an extension.
Feel like I’m in college again, asking for a just a couple more days, the weekend, to finish this goddamn paper.
Steadiness here, not forced, not rehearsed. The most direct and impassioned Composition I can have these hands carve from the blank screen.
I decided to STOP, again… stop listening, engaging, giving these pigs what they want.
How does it feel? Let me get back to ya…… (Like Dad says.)
This is maybe an addition to that idea off ‘agency’. And AGENCY surrounding SELF-Care, mind actuation and attentuation of the outside seismology.
Again, those people that just won’t stop. That are so convinced they’re taking a stand and speaking virtue when they’re really just the most vile and haphazard of loons.
What can you do, nothing. Focus on SELF.
STOP, with giving to their being.
STOP, seeing them as a source deserving of your acknowledgment…
STOP, with them.
Done.
Publisher giving me an extension, and instead of panic I feel relief. Strange, unfamiliar relief. Running with it. Not trying to interpret or build from some abstract principle.
Meeting in 53 minutes, I make another latte here at the house. Nurse talking to a friend downstairs, the friend a bit loud but I have LoFi offering the right layer of cover and envelopment.
Annunciating the Now, how I need and want it, prefer it be. They hate this… that I have such peace, happiness, love, FREEDOM in my life now.
One of those beauties of the process, when it works. Latte and LoFi, new sky for me to imbibe.
The Bottledaux principle of freely typing like a mad man, like Kerouac… like the mask Mom gave me during covid which simple reads Drink Coffee Write Books Be Happy –
And here I am, DEVIL.
Unable to be touched or shoved one way or another.
Their remedial attempts become more obvious, pathetic, and comical. And yes, this is here for them to estimate however they’re able. Their ability to understand, not a concern. The remedial will stay such.
(12-18-25)
Untitled Till Now
Let them think they’re winning
That’s the gold for you
Enjoy it, and no need to guard it
It’s not going anywhere
Always there to center and rebuild you
Your mood, there are no disruptions
Let them create a comedy, more of it
And then a crumbled castle –
Popcorn.
Taking a moment for me. Prioritizing me. And my peace.
Imagine that—treating my own well-being like it’s an actual appointment on the calendar instead of a vague concept I chase somewhere between emails, training sessions, and the tower-circling stress of “Did I forget to respond to that message?”
Today I’m choosing to marinate—yes, marinate—in peace. Let be everywhere in my day.
Let it frame my hours, elevate each of them. Let it talk the parts of this character I’ve let stress harden. This isn’t a grand retreat to a cabin or a vow of silence in the mountains.
It’s simply me pausing long enough to remember what it feels like to be an actual human with needs, not just a productivity machine with Wi-Fi. And, not a beacon of expectant reaction. That’s done and dead, TO.DAY.
I’m stepping away from the noise. Long enough to remember how much of it is optional. Long enough to hear my own thoughts without the chorus of shoulds, coulds, and “When do I have to be there?”
Long enough to breathe like someone who intends to keep doing it for several more decades.
Self-care isn’t a magazine with some glossy cover by the checkout register. Half the time it looks like me sitting quietly, sipping a latte in the morning, staring at a notebook, and calling it “restorative reflection.” But the truth is, this is the real work, the work I’ve vowed to my SELF to intensify… choosing myself on purpose. Rebuilding my peace in small, steady steps and encouraging beats.
Here. Present. Unrushed. Unapologetic ‘AF’ about the time I’m taking. Because this Now—this quiet, this collection, this tiny declaration of worthiness—is MINE. And today, that’s EVERYTHING.
On the day’s page…
I let something trigger me yesterday. And I feel like an idiot.
But, in this Mental Health story, there are “bumps”. Hate that cliche but it’s true.
True turbulence, uneven roads, storms…. But I’m here today at the desk typing, and reflective.
And it was over something, someONE, I cannot control. And why would I want to? Not so much about controlling them but frustrated with how they are – what they’ve done, said, do currently and saying.
Breathing…. Lesson. And hard on myself, I know, but I’m stronger today. Family, which of course includes NT, is what I fight for. What keeps me in the trenches and unafraid to be hit by a grenade.
My space and place, like a “man cave” but anything but. Not what I’m after with space and time to SELF.
Dad told me once that moments like this you’ll remember for the rest of your life. One time when I was home sick I was stretched out on my bed, chin in palms and just looking out the window, enjoying the view from that Bayview Drive home. He ordered me to enjoy it, that peace, ‘cause it won’t be forever, take time to absorb it so I can recall it later he said. Something like that.
I never forgot it. Feeling that now, and telling mySELF to do the same, where I am in this room in Windsor – the loft, a place I seriously fantasized about at a time in my life where I was convinced I was stuck, damned, jailed.
Now, this writer is FREE. This is me, and I’m not stopping with this new writing mission. Understanding Mental Health – mood and attitude, and how much control we forget we have in those throws.
Trying to calm myself. But at least I’m acknowledging these feelings and thoughts, and using it as a meditation. The Nurse has always ordered me to pay more attention to what I feel. That initial reaction, how you feel when something happens, like right when it occurs. That’s where I am now. With work. Nothing really happened, but just the realization just now that I’m here in this job that is a box. And I’m not the only one feeling so.
Overhearing some words this morning. I have to build my own building. So… start here. Let everything out. See a couple people walking by, but I’m not distracted for that long surprisingly. Usually I’d check my phone or scroll instagram or some shit, but not now.
Probably realizing I can’t afford to. Wasting time is wasting life and money and opportunity, and anything else that could make life better for me and the kids and the Nurse.
14:47…. Missing simpler scenes. Mornings at Dutcher Crossing when I’d set up the tasting room, then right before we open walk out to the lawn and just stare at the vineyard. Job didn’t pay shit as most wine industry gigs do, but still.
That feeling. The sun, air, relaxed and calm. No quota, just a day of conversations and REAL connectivity. Catch myself staring at the brick wall to my left. What the FUCK am I complaining about? And if I’m not complaining then getting in some mood, some overly analytical lean? WHY? Seriously Mike shut the fuck up… you have everything you need, right here. Like, literally at this desk. In this amazing condo that the Story just fucking handed you.
Now I’m strong, or feeling strong. Nurse and I agree to a date night tonight. We need it. Her especially, my far more than hardworking to-be-Bride. Still can’t believe that. I need to toughen up… simplify and consolidate, singularize, and take on these devils more directly.
I have to say it. Sorry. Yes, I want to write more yay-saying yodels and positive prose, but there are contaminants that need be cut out. That simple. The elaboration and excessive explanation and declination is something not needed in this paragraphed inventorying.
14:53, noticing my writing speed and Beat, momentum and sprint. What is it? The realization, of course. The honesty. Me, here.. fuck that. My quota is NOT me. The pitch, entirely not me. And the fucking funnel, don’t get me started. Not sure why I pursued sales after being released from the MSP last February. I don’t know, maybe what I was used to? I did well at the last telecom. But this corporate mutant playground, no. Not for this writer.
Again, feels better after typing. The honesty with self. And when others tell me what I need to do, what this takes, how I need to be different. Only has me in more of a convicted shape to do what I love, be more me than was ever able or allowed to fucking be.
No retreat. And no dimming this writer’s blaze. Waking early tomorrow not to run but WRITE. Or, maybe run first then write. Have laptop on table waiting.
New soundness in this loud Nowness.