Joe told me to make a list of my goals every morning, when I get up, and every night to make another list, of gratitude.
It’s hard to do either. Goals are hard for me to name because then you have to confront the possibility of failure.
And right now, my greatest gratitude is that I wake up in the morning charged with JBW’s attitude toward my goals, written down or not. This is an absolute sea change from where it was last month or even two weeks ago.
In this euphoric workhorse state, it’s hardest of all to be grateful at night, when I look back and feel as if nothing got done, feel resentful that I can’t go any longer because sleep is prying my fingers loose from the wheel (metaphorically speaking…I’m not driving right now), and dragging me down a narcotic embrace. (Sorry, I couldn’t help it…that phrase occurred to me and I had to use it. Where else can I, if not on my own blog? Nobody else is going to let me get away with a baroque phrase like that.)
Dave is saying come hang out in Chicago this weekend. I want to; I’m going to. But I want so much to work, and it’s finally working…the idea of leaving it to party with old friends in a great city is embarrassingly low-priority among my druthers.
Lower even than sleeping, which is taking over here. Blame it for the lack of sense. I love sleeping, dammit…when did I start to hate it?
Isn’t this great, though? To be here, instead of where I was before?