I’ve gotten real good at coming up with ideas, doing enough research to know exactly what I need to do to succeed with it, then slowly losing steam as the day to day grind of what actually being the thing is, as opposed to imagining oneself as the thing. Wether that’s a painter, a writer, a designer, a videographer, or anything else. I suppose it’d be one thing if I hadn’t, in the foreground, been operating at least somewhat reasonably as a professional and as a father. If I were a failure at everything, and not just my entrepreneurial daydreams, well, that’d be a goddamn shame.

For many of these abortive projects I’ll feel a kind of frenetic excitement and passion for planning. It’s short lived to be sure, but it’s energetic and driving. If the project is clear enough it can also be monomaniacal. I’ll stay up for days grinding on a deck or writing a white paper or sketching or doing whatever thing it is that needs to get done for the first phase.

This new thing, this fantastic, shiny new thing that’s taken my attention has a degree of that sugary passion, but it is also accompanied by a sense of relief. Some of these other dreams: becoming a YouTube SENSATION, starting a little shop, becoming the director of some stupid fucking brand, these all feel like half measures that force me to continue to have meeting and discussing the most successful path towards manipulating people I wouldn’t want to get dinner with if we were in the same town.

Marks are what you call them, I think.

This idea of a small school, a micro school is what the internet calls them, doesn’t feel like a compromise. It feels like exactly what I want to be doing. All I want to do is projects with Robinia. If our mortgage can be paid for by doing that, and that payment can come from the people she ought to be socializing with in the first place? Well, that’s a good thing, all good from top to bottom.