Breathing my Mind into Your Face

I sit and type with a mind that’s everywhere.

Always thinking about what to do. Get more money, work harder, plan your life to the minute.

Write a TV show, buy a small service business from a boomer that’s retiring, change my investment portfolio to account for the impending recession. Spend less money.

Thoughts swirl until I do something impulsive, then regret. Could’ve planned.

Living is still so hard. How am I supposed to do all this shit and smell the roses?

I’m moving too fast, can’t create. Cut caffeine at eight, lifted weight, but my leg still shakes. Took 2^nd Adderall at 3, too late?

ChatGPT please read my mind and document it for me? Take my ideas and create a finished product. According to the bullshit I tell people in the professional world I’m a relentless prioritizer. Psyche! The big shit always goes on the backburner so I can do the dumb easy shit.

My nine-year-old knows better than me. I bought him a Quiksilver hoodie in the orange he likes and it hung lonely in the closet. I ask why and he says it’s because he doesn’t know anything about the brand so why promote it. Good point. My Dad used to ask “How much they paying you to wear that shirt” when it had a brand name on it. Expensive clothes are an expression of ego. Look at me I can afford Vuori, who gives a fuck.

Save more to create the retirement I want. Step 2, figure out what I want. Travel sounds good. So does having roots and helping people in a left leaning community in a warm climate on the coast. What would the happiest people on earth do? Supposedly that’s Finland, fuck that ice. Put your foot down, compromise, or let your wife make the decision and go along?