A writer writes, always.
Except when he doesn't. Yeah, I know, it's been a few days. My in house editor commented on my lack of new arrangements of letters upon the computer screen. It's been a rough couple of weeks. I don't want to get into it all. I really just want to stop thinking about it all. Full stop.
Without showing you the ugly photos of my inner demons, I just want to say that I'm at a crossroads, a crux, in my life.
In exactly one week the Alpine Odyssey will be just behind me. I'm going to do my best to enjoy the race, to savor every moment, and to crush the pedals into oblivion along the way.
Mandy and I went to a tire an suspension class at Salvagetti this past Thursday. I realize how little I truly know about bikes. I realize how much I want to know, and I have a better idea where I need to look. It was a good class. I've already made some important changes in thinking.
We're craving a simpler life. I'm desperately needing a change of career. I realize I am not suited to life in a cubicle. I'm really not a team player. I'm too individualistic, too autistic, too strong willed to ever be satisfied in the type of job I'm trapped in now.
Ideally I could just make a living by daydreaming. I'm about the best there is at that. Short of that, I guess I need to turn my daydreams into stories. Wish I had the trust fund to make that a full time job. So, short of that I guess I want to open an anarchist bike shop.
But where? Where is the demand for a bike shop the highest? And to whom would I cater? Commuters? Mountain bikers? Roadies? Cargoers? All of the above?