god damnit. i have no idea why i wake up grumpy sometimes. for all intents and purposes, today is going just fine. i'm working away like a little sunbeam, making big changes, getting challenged - i freaking happy as can be and in love and what not - but; fuck.
i don't know what i expect from things. i hear the economy is turning around. i owe people money. i don't like owing people money. i'm not a fan of money. in fact, money is a son of a bitch and i've been pretty shitty about managing it - earning it - and earning enough of it to feel like a real contributing member of society and what not. at 34 - i am on the verge of applying over a year of "self education" and launch a business and i'm terrified as fuck. ok, maybe "terrified" is a little extreme. i'd say its more of one of those things where you take the ten minutes before a client comes to visit you and you begin to wonder - maybe you are grumpy because you are not writing. which is terrifying. not everything has to be an opus, mr. price. you've scribbled that line down before and believed it. but - you aren't even scribbling these days, mr. price. and i think this is where the word "terrified" applies.
in short bursts, he says. in short bursts. the world is falling apart. people are getting smugly ugly these days in their desperation and i have to tell you that it takes a lot of work not to get all smug myself with that sort of thing and rest on the laurels of whatever blooming ideas and monuments of self proclaimed achievements i've collected for myself in the last few.
i am happy. but i still have a large degree of little bitch in me. and that "ouches" me. for i am in love and happy.
everything is alright. everything is alright. better than alright. so, alright, mr. price. get to the business of handling your shit.
and for now, what i've got to say is that i have three minutes to complete this private moment that isn't a private moment and hope you understand the impulse to drop it down like this all sloppy and unspecific in so much as that all i really want to do right now is what i am doing:
this.
then sort it out later.
ok. my phone just blinged. gotta go. what do you think about that? what do you think about that? what do you think about that?
i will say this. that if the value of my writing was built upon the number of notches i scratches off on the god damn bedpost i mine as well have been a cat. not a whore. (i don't think i'm a whore - for real. its just that i'm four minutes past three o'clock and i'm out of time and can't really hash out the thought like i should but wrote it nonetheless - for the reason of this little posted pussy-willow right here.)
the phone is ringing. time to go.
ah, fortune. there's been an accident and she's stuck in traffic.
i've a few minutes more.
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