The assessment client said to me in the elevator.

VA said to the OT students.

“I am a lucky guy,” he said to them.

And my heart warmed.

What a clash of worlds.

“I didn’t know where to park, so I parked down the street!”

And when I got home:

“The people in the front looked scary!”

“No, but they look like good people.”

“The reason I brought the cookies was because I didn’t like imagining these poor people expecting the cookies and not receiving them.”

As I stepped out into the bright Sunday morning light, I found, yet again, the performance blue paint glowing. All the accents were illuminated in such a muscular way.

“This car wants adventure. It wants to be driven hard to a Sunday morning brunch somewhere in Mill Valley. Where you order a giant breakfast burrito stuffed with egg, cheddar, chorizo, and avocado.

I am choosing to format this as public and not private so I can access it at work.

The book is your ticket to freedom.

Once its in editing, after your editor confirms the magnitude of how big this book will be, how well it’ll do, once you begin shopping it around to agents, you’ll be able to justify quitting your job.

(FINISH)

I would love to see the Lancer get a second life.

Imagine all the clear coat filled in, new shock absorbers installed, new, fresh floor mats, new interior lights installed (that stay on when the car is being driven, not when the doors are opened) with the ability to customize the colors, and a scent diffuser sticking out of the cupholder in the backseat. The backseat, by the way, is perfectly clean.

The trunk is empty.

The car glistens again. The tires sparkle. It looks almost new. It always smells nice. Clients feel like they’re riding in something special when they get in it.

The Lancer will get a second life. And it will see 250,000 miles.

– The world

Those are the words society will speak once I am getting seven hours of sleep a night, healing my body, healing my mind, and am on a manifestation rampage.

Workshops, book deals, patents, a TV show. Rental properties, a second car, a house house. Deltoids like the shoulders on Samus’ suit. A chest that barrels forward. A thin waist. Huge thighs. A beautiful home.

I am changing and my world will change and the lives of everybody around me will watch on in shock and awe at its proportions.

“I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.”

And its still caked in anti-freeze from New York.

Every work week ends on a Friday. And by the end of Friday, everything is okay.

Evelyn at Starbucks seems like a nice girl.

I bet she is.

So maybe I should leave her alone.

Rather than drag her into this cosmic confusion of starting something with her while my heart belongs to somebody else, and I am one-half of that person.

She seems like a nice person. So maybe she should be left alone.

The helicopter lifted me off of the rooftop of JP on January 9th, with clients and problems and resentments jumping up trying to grab onto the rails and pull it back down.

And the helicopter landed onto the rooftop of the Fairfield, Marriot in New York City’s Time Square.

That was supposed to be the happy ending.

Except, this morning it landed back on top of JP. Then Camille hit my car.