Sagittarius 14° (December 6)
Woke up at three-thirty once again but there is nothing to be done but just start moving and use the time wisely. I have furthered tidied my office—or rather let it tidy itself as I prepare for the grand exodus. I’m not overachieving right now and I don’t feel that I have to. got some writing done and contacted the Venice hotel as I said I would. Prepared the kitchen for the day and am soon to set out to get some errands accomplished. I need to see if my barber is in residence, first and foremost. Then I will slide down to UPS drop off and get some coffee ground at the factory and pick up some sicky supplies (cough drops and tissues et al) then do a breeze through Vintage In Vogue if they are open, which they are meant to be. I got on the phone to the conflicting doctors, too, and hopefully straightened all of that out. There are just over two weeks now until the grand exodus and I’m feeling fairly prepared to make said exit. I will set off soon and when I come back I will put together all the notes regarding Paris and have a lovely time musing on that while I let my choppers brighten. I’m not going to worry about the car right now as there seems no point in doing so. That said I could just give a call—which I did—and same old message as always: that he isn’t it. I will have tried many times. I will stop by there tomorrow after I make my morning dump run. All my errands went well; in the meantime we had a note back from the agent and there is no good news yet to report.
I said I felt okay about that but the truth is that somewhere I do feel the manifestation of sadness. I understand where one is coming from when they say they would like a win. I too would like a win. I’m not going to write back today because I just can’t bear it really. One of us will have to but I really don’t want it to be me. What can one do. All one can do is keep trying. People who work in publishing are, on the whole, a miserable, victim type individual. They dart around their flourescent lit halls, avoiding real work, then collect their paychecks. They’ve never had to have been creative in their whole entire life. They, like most lawyers, agents, managers, lie for a living. It’s fairly ridiculous. We shall continue to keep a positive attitude. When you make a deal with a publisher you are suddenly working for someone in a sense. And, at least for right now, we don’t have to work for anybody. That is the boon of being who we are. I will work today till around four o’clock and then I’m going to check out and just watch some movies or new Netflix series or some such. I am not here to overachieve. I am here to work my magic as best I’m able and that I can do without much muss or fuss. We are very fortunate. And most likely there will be a deal but if there isn’t one with the person in question than I believe we would have been saved from something. I know one thing is for sure: for wahtever reason we are not being given the easiest of rides in this journey; nor are we having the most difficult either. The most important thing I’m learning at this juncture is that I am capable of pulling myself up by the bootstraps and, moreover, that I have the ability to self moderate, even if that means more abstinence than temporance for awhile. Mainly I don’t want to be bothered by upset, nor do I want to be plagued by overwork. I want to take a light touch and I want to work some magic for awhile. It is about focusing on relationships and that means taking responsibility for those that didn’t serve me in the first place. I have to admit my part in those instances and all I can do really is concentrate on being my best self. It is too easy to be disappointed. Disappointment is a luxury I can ill afford. I wasn’t born into homeless poverty living on the streets of Calcutta; nor was I plopped into some lap of luxury. I grew up poorer than most, for sure. And I want to say I’m proud of that. I need to steer clear of others (anybody!) who equates their material wealth with some sort of superiority. If anything it is a recipe for the opposite being true. I just want to keep my side of the street clean, if not to myself.
I know what I’m doing is right I know the way I’m approaching my days just now is exactly correct. I have faith in my abilities and if people don’t seem to “get me” or my work or my brand or whatever it is you want to call it that’s also fine. I am going where the love is. And the main place that love is coming from is from me. I have no reason to flaunt that fact. I am not taking to social media every day (like so many others) putting up photos of myself. Sure, I am writing about my life and posting it on a Blague that is public, but you don’t seem me promoting the fact. I don’t believe in that. This is my way of being invisible in public which is one of my more favorite things to do slash be. I think that’s why I used to love smoking pot so much in my youth. I would smoke and it would relax me and I would be out in public, even in crowded places, and feel so cushioned and so beautifully alone. It lasted into my thirties. Then it backfired and instead of feeling cottony and chill and part of some invisible, silent fabric, I felt that there were alarms going off in my head. I still love the way it makes me feel, mentally. I love the ideas that it brings to light if not to life. But I cannot stand the way it feels in my body. It’s like little demons getting trapped in my blood or nervous system, that something is going to give way, that I’m going to have a stroke or something. I would never happen because really what’s going on is some form of panic attack; and in truth pot aint the pot that I grew up on which just made me feel tired and slightly headachy or then, when the green stuff came along, sort of crystaline like the buds themselves, bursting with clarity and flavor. That was the stuff of my college life when that amazing superior bud was first introduced. I could smoke a tiny pinch, a crumb I would call it (didn’t we all) and be high for hours listening to records in my room which I would deconstruct. i had few clothes and I had fewer friends and I liked it that way. I either ran everywhere—to classes or workstudy, which was a deep sadness (having to work in the cafeteria or some such when none of my friends needed to do likewise); or I would ride my nineteen-sixtees no-speed, pedal-break red Columbia bicycle. I was all alone and loving it. I didn’t need another living soul on the planet. I just needed enough for some double cheeseburgers from some cheap place and I don’t think I needed to eat more than once a day. I remember the summer of 1983 living in an M.I.T. dorm and working at the B.U. School of Theology (basically I was the Registrar for the summer while the real one was away) and I know I went to lunch and had those cheeseburgers, which I would bring to my friend Chris’s where we would smoke put and eat them and watch The Monkees on re-runs. But I have no concept of ever eating dinner. Just like I have zero notion of ever being lonely. Who was I then. I know I didn’t have stresses because everything was ahead of me and I just assumed I would be, well, not rich and famous, necessarily (I never thought in those terms) but happy leading a creative life and fulfilled. I’m not quite though am I; although I’m not far off either. I just have a little negotiating to do. A little adjusting.
To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree pointof the Sabian Symbol will be one degree higher than the one listed for today. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°, for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360 degrees spread over 365 or 6 days per year—so they near but not exactly correlate.
Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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