Day 7 of the second #90DB.
Listening to and reporting on the talk inside of my head at the start of the day: I’ve got a lot of things bouncing around in my head today. The coronavirus (of course). The edict from myself to write with more emotion. The comments from followers of “this isn’t as gusty as the last round.” Yeah. I get it. I needed a fucking break. The first 90 days was like ripping apart my soul. Now I’m in the process of rebuilding it. So let me catch my fucking breath.
So… with that in mind… I went to bed last night with the shits. Severe headache. Coronavirus? Who the fuck knows anymore. Read what’s printed: if you’re sick you’ve got it. If you’re not sick, you’ve got it. THEN WHY THE FUCK QUARANTINE at this point if you’re sick you’ve got it and you’re not sick you’ve got it?
But I digress. Back to the story of Ulysses. So I went to bed sick last night. Woke up at 5 am. Still felt shitty. Drank several bourbon shots. Went back to sleep. Got up at noon. Drank a few more shots. Got up close to midnight.
And that’s where we start today, kids. With NO time left in the day.
Not to mention the existential bullshit that bounced around in my head yesterday.
Boil it all down: What’s the big deal about my BHAGs?
Are they from God or are they not?
That’s a shit storm waiting to happen.
If they are from God, then why the fuck haven’t I given them more attention? More demand? More effort?
And that’s where the rubber hits the road, this morning… er, afternoon… er midnight.
I’m not starting over, but I’m starting over, if you get my drift.
TODAY, on day 7, of this second #90DB, I’m going to start acting like my BHAGs are a gift from God. Like they’re the most important things in the world to me. Like they matter like breath to me. Like if I don’t get them done, what the hell do I deserve to live for? To breath for? To eat for? To take up carbon?
Dramatic? I suppose.
But God gave me something.
I want to honor him.
Today’s the day. Well, tomorrow’s the day now…
Here we go…