It was artistic, I found. Quite, really. And yes, I plan on drawing. Soon. Eventually painting. Like Kelly, Jewel. I want colors on canvas, put them there. What Katie and I did to that Room, adding that gentler blue shade to the dry wall, changed the Room’s personality, feel, identity. Going up to Mom and Dad’s to spend the night, dodging paint scents within the castle walls. Bringing what’s left of the Pinot with me. With what I said in the last entry, about Social Media, I’m deciding to scale back on usage therein, somewhere from 60-75%. More writing, less frivolous fiddling.
Next day, Mike typed in the other Room, while his sister gently stroked the summarizing coats to the walls. With the brush, she appeared unusually artisan, meticulous with each blot. The next day, back in that office for Mike. Not sleeping well the night before, and the caffeine from coffee #3 dissipating, his spirits sank. He avoided another dose of liquid revival, in fears of getting sick, or lightheaded as he did that one time he was out at a tasting the night before, thinking all symptoms would vanish like fleeing phantasms if he drank mochas, straight coffee, and Diet Cokes for hours strung together. No. Not today. He’d use the exhaustion as his emboldenment.
Last night’s wine, the ’08 Sonoma County Cab, tickling him, reminding him that his wine was still in barrel. Katie yesterday said that ML may be a bit slow in scheduled or expected progression. Distracted by the issue of Poets & Writers atop his printer, that arrived in the mail yesterday, with a bold covering tear-off reminding him to renew his subscription, Mike typed forward, even ignoring his quaking cell phone. Screen read “Blocked,” so he certainly felt not a drop of urgency to answer. He journaled jumped, followed his delirious druthers to his short story efforts, touched ones he thought needed bumps from his brush.