Yesterday: I begin my pre-tested google adwords campaign.

Today: Wake up, check email and find several messages in my inbox from PayPal indicating how many sales I made while I was dreaming.
 
Dreaming.
 
Apt description.

And, no, I *don't* feel like a putz.

No more than usual, anyhow, when my borderline militant optimism meets the allied forces of the real world on a cyber Omaha beach.

It's unclear who the Victor is.

Gratefully, unlike past endeavors, I didn't enmesh identity with pursuit and thus it's at least clear who the Vic is.
 

I can pompously pontificate on a par with the likes of Frasier about how thoroughly I'd planned, reviewed, tested, optimized, marketed and delivered an immaculate product to a cash-in-hand niche audience (who, by this time, of course, is convinced irrevocably that they need my product).
 
But Judge Judy would bitch slap me for peeing on her leg, so to speak. Which I would gladly do. Not so much out of a geriatric urination fetish than genuine disdain for that condescending hag with a gavel and cliché repetoire of acid New-Yorkisms.
 
Sooo as you might imagine, no such liberating notification appeared.

I actually, really, for realz seriously expected to be making sales of a $307 information product out the door.
 
It happens.
 

I had enough cranial capacity to create an opt-in on my landing page to help me build a list.

That part has been a success.
 

But, umm… when do I get the money and peace out to Thailand?

I'm ready.

Estoy listo.
 

Sitting around at my boring ass hotel job reading Anthony Bourdain books is NOT helping the situation.

Traveling with Anthony means that one minute I'm in Cambodia in a village populated by Khmer Rouge of old, the next in Japan, eating Fugu sashimi prepared by the son of Japan's first licensed Fugu chef, then back in San Francisco only through beerier eyes that seem to see clearer than my less, albeit not entirely, intoxicated peeprs.
 
Maybe it's the vista that only financial and location independence can afford.

The shangrila open only to a man, unfettered. A self-made man.
 
Fuckin' A.
 
I guess this means only one thing.

Time to get back to work.
 
Featured Photo: Xenocryst @ Antares Scorpii
 
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