Seven days of writing. There was a book suggested to be about chanelling your artistic self. To write away for seven days straight first thing in the morning. So here I am. Typing away and catalogueing whatever comes to my head.

Lauryn Hill is on the speaker. To Zion. She sings about a son she was debating on aborting. Imagine that. The first thing I write freely about without restraint.

...I lost it a little bit. Got caught up in my thoughts and the words that I feel would say abortion differently.

Singing Killing Me Softly break...

The song is still playing but I've lost interest in singing it. I think partly because I started reading back what I wrote. Corrected. And thought again... Control. I am out of it. And have the need for it.

Another cliche.

Being down on myself wasn't working for me either. The willingness to change and having the vision of the person I believe myself to be or want to become... Gets you a little down sometimes. I have to remember to take the reins. Leave it up to me to make the balances that would create the peace. My peace.

This was already given to me.

Today is a good day to die.
I will live it.
Courageously.
With dignity and humility.

I work in Downtown Los Angeles. Telemarketing, no less, at a little office right next door to a corporate building. It's a 6 desk office & is so small that we don't even have a bathroom and we use the one at the building next door.

It's raining outside. I walk next door to use the bathroom and against the Downtown of the city in the barren lobby of the building there is an Asian woman sitting on a chair playing a cello. There are four of us in the lobby and we are all silent. Beautiful.