Big week ahead of the writer.  08:43

In the chair, writing and gathering aims and goals.  More a bullet-point approach than some wildly written way…

Not sure yet how to approach the day.  What I want more than anything is a run but not ready for it yet so what does this writer do I ask myself no immediate answer.  Maybe.

Make self more coffee, still not in a running mood.  More so for writing and freely typing and whatever forms then there you have it, where I am.

Cooled air finding me in this tucked away office nook on the second floor here in Vacaville.  My attitude, something of a warrior and other a meditative bloke, like a monk but one that’s sipped too much caffeine and for some reason continues to.

Current mood, no specific color or feel.  Nothing committed, nothing definite.  Trying to be as in the Now as possible.  Keep up the hustle, the production of this Story, all entailed content, be it a picture here at the Vacaville desk.

Here holding the mug like it contained answers, when really it contains only evidence of my loose time management.  Consumer Sales Trainer with a stall and hover-before-crash from his own thoughts, staring at the kitchen espresso and waiting for it to tell me what to do.  Come on al-fucking-ready…

Writing myself out of this stall, focusing on the little earbuds which only remind me that I should be running, then the dishes downstairs I have to do.

Laughing alone in the kitchen like someone who’s either had a that one idea or is about to be escorted out of Target.  The real job—sales, training, life itself.  It’s not about teaching answers, but infecting people with just enough of your energy that they mistake it for their own.

Interesting way to think of it, honestly.  Making this new Story the only one, and testing self.  Hold this Mike Madigan today this morning right here sipping more coffee than he should to task.  To this book, and the one after, the one after, and after…

Really, it’s not about the sales or the job or company at all.  But, ME.  Yes… delirious with confidence while I write MY world on fire.

This poet’s fire, the one not stopping and vowing to erase anything impeding or threatening my happiness, my life with the Nurse.  This Professor Mikey turn this morning and animated and syllabic, riming growl, the only thing going forward… my curriculum for SELF, rotating and riled, redolent with a sharp harken.

10:29 = When I see my own typing speed, then a pigeon outside, strutting like he owns the place.  Me, just watching and loving his attitude, that feathered rat bravado.