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📓 Monday, December 29, 2025 — 11:08 a.m.
GMC Van Notes
11:08 a.m. I’m sitting in my white GMC van. Brow in my left hand. My Apple Watch sliding around my thin wrist like a bracelet that can’t commit. The side mirror to my left is taped up because I still don’t know how to set it right without taping it from every angle.
And in a weird way… that mirror feels like my life.
Taped up to survive. Always having to tape things up around me like a kaleidoscope of bullshit. That’s how I’ve been surviving for a long time—patching, adjusting, improvising—just to keep moving.
For years I kept replaying the same loop: my life sucks, my life sucks, and then not really doing anything about it besides surviving the day.
But today I caught something.
I wrote a lot. Like… a lot. Over 60,000 words in about four months—book-length—while selling plastic bags six days a week. I come home late, still work out, still eat clean, and now I’ve been drawing every day for about a month.
And I’m sitting here thinking: Huh… maybe I can actually get something out of this.
Then the money thought hit me—not the fantasy money. The real kind.
What if somebody pays me $25? Or $50? Or $85? People love to say that’s “nothing,” and yeah… compared to some influencer fantasy, it’s small. But if I get a couple of those a week—$25 here, $50 there, $100 here—that shit stacks. It stacks and stacks and stacks.
And what does that mean?
It means I’m paid. It means I’m not just “hoping.” It means I’m a working artist, even if it starts ugly and small. I just have to hustle and keep showing up.
I can do it the way I already live.
While I’m driving, I can talk into my phone. Pull over. Convert it into words. Copy it into my Notes or Pages. Tweak it. Boom—send it. Wait for the cash. Cash hits the account. Keep it going.
Keep it going.
And over time, something else happens: people start recognizing consistency. Readers. Editors. Whoever’s hiring. They see your name again and again and again. They start trusting you because you’re becoming predictable in the best way—reliable.
Maybe then they give you more work. Maybe you become a known commodity. Maybe I’m wrong.
But I know this: the taped-up mirror is still there… and I’m still here.
Only now, I’m not just taping things up to survive. I’m building something on purpose.
Can Plástico Man become something? I don’t know. But I’m building like the answer is yes.
Question: What’s one “taped-up” part of your life you’re trying to turn into something real?
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