I just repeated that to myself, "on inspiration," and now I'm here writing, before it's gone. It seems magical. And there is inspiration everywhere. I'm almost tempted to start a start-up even.
I think, that what you'll create can be discovered, regarding a start-up, from your audience. You just create the template, so to speak, and let use it whoever will, and get problems out of them. So, even if you don't know what to start-up, you can discover it.
And that would be my start-up. I can give you the template to help you discover what to start-up. But you must pay me, damnit, $45,000 sounds reasonable, and right now. Come up off it.
And this does seem to me only like new-age work, or something, I'll call it, angel investing and start-ups and such. It's nicer than work-as-I-know-it. But it's still work—I mean, of course that—but it's still work in the way that makes work disgusting now—if you take the money. If you take the money, that puts you in the chains, I feel. And they're not giving the money unless you're getting in those chains.
But I know nothing whatsoever about this, start-ups and such, and I admit complete ignorance. My thinking is influenced by what I'm reading. And that's just what I smell, my initial sense of things, from what I have been reading. And Borrow sits untouched next to me, his adventures with the Rommany, and Vinny's letters too.
But I do definitely see possibility—knowing what I can do, if only applied certainly. And it has the gears turning. It's an option I'll say.
So smug and comfortable I sound. And the sink is still clogged. And I still have yet to get a lightbulb for the bathroom. The rest of the inspiration comes as I type.