06:58 in adjunct cell. First official day of new winery assignment, and my business plan is ‘LISTEN’. That was my plan for the first day I was there a full day, I think on May 2nd, but now that I’m no longer in Dry Creek, and now permanently in AV, I’m going to speak very little, take more notes than I did as an undergrad and grad student combined, and sail away into my wined story.
Ordered a 4-shot mocha this morning with some tip money pocketed yesterday. Sold two cases of wine hier, even with the slow traffic we had in the tasting room. How did I sell? By pouring wine, talking, by not selling AT ALL. Why don’t people understand this? Either way, I’ve recognized something in my character that precipitates sales. NOW, I need to finish my written projects and sell them. What am I more passionate about, someone else’s wine or my own writing? Thought this thought a while back but haven’t returned to it since. While waiting for my mocha it clobbered me, and pulled and pushed me, now I’m eager to finish my livre.
Test to Self: ‘NO. WINE.’ Thought this thought before as well, but I either surrender because of some bottle I can write about put in front of me, or I’ve had a shitty or stressful day and need to relax. Now, no permission, no clemency. No wine. Indefinitely. This will allow me to wake earlier, workout, write, finish pieces of books, and before the day has even left the ground. This is ALL a life lesson of sorts. Additionally in this challenge— (something to envision) My first glass of wine will be on my first business trip. When I’m on the plane, or at the hotel. And not a day, minute, second before.
This morning I feel like I could take on this world, some undiscovered ones, imaginary ones, and the universes they’re in. Picasso said that inspiration exists, but it has to see you working. Well, I’m working, and I’ll be waking a hell of a lot earlier from now on. This morning is a morning with an alchemical will to it. And me in its grip I refuse to stop even for a blink. Life is short, so I do everything at once, somehow keeping inventory of what I forward. See? There… just did ten pushups here in the cell. But this is no cell, this is a sanctuary for collection for this penner. Always has been. I hear the vent push out whatever air it wants and Michelle, on of the fullies in the department I can have true conversation with, talking to someone down the hall— her words broken randomly by her sweet, cheery chuckle. Making me smile, I type on. Time 07:11, wondering if I should go to 1614. My room. No.. two more minutes, please, just two more. Not sure if this is inspiration or a new understanding of who I am, what I’m capable of and where I’m going.