New plan, again.  New week.  Same brain squatters.  Fucking rent-free parasites – loud, and ungrateful as ever.

Other energies — the uninvited guests of thought — have dragged their rusty-ass 1970s-looking lawn chairs into my thinking again, arguing about nothing, drinking my pricier wines.  Devils.

Me — trying to hold a meeting with myself on a few key points. Points I’ve avoided like tax season and “spiritual” growth.

But fine. We’ll address them.

We’ll “circle back”.

To Burlingame for a Q4 “Kickoff,” or “Alignment,” or whatever euphemism we’re using this quarter to mean mandatory optimism.  I’ll do my best with the presentation — maybe even smile — and then eject myself gracefully back into the occasion.

Mood in character-air, sure, hovering like really bad pollution over good coffee.  But nothing to be done about it. The trick, I remind this writer-synapse net, the same way I remind the Trainees:
“Don’t let one door poison the next.”

In other words — don’t let one bad scene ruin the whole act.  Don’t let one tragic theater’s lighting failure make you cancel the tour.  Huh, never thought of that way…

Is that fair to say?
Is that good advice to SELF?
Probably.
But then again, I’ve lied to myself before — and FUCK, I’m persuasive.