New month and new challenges, new invitation. First month, Q4, and for me everything is in a poetic synchrony. Breakroom writing which I haven’t done in some time. The whole day with projects, an interview with a new candidate which I thoroughly enjoyed, emailing someone in company with new idea, and more ideas, more, more than lily going to have to come here early in A.M. to catch up on some addresses as my laptop, the work one, not wanting to agree to do anything this morning. I’m mean to be here, in this chair, in this big lunch room, sipping coffee and not needing to eat as I finished the rest of the sandwich wife made for me end of last week— actually that’s a lie, I didn’t eat any of it last week, forgetting I even had it in the fridge. I felt horrible and swearing to self that I’d today eat it, hoping it’d be edible, not molded or gross or off in flavor dote. And, it was perfect, just what a writer needed to have this sitting. Writing at a tech company. Am I a tech writer? I guess, in some form. Well, now maybe yes. Yes I am. I’m in tech, coming from wine and education, finishing out my last semester at the JC then setting everything, all efforts and projects and proverbial promises in this basket. All new axioms enacted. Both journals at my left, new thoughts let to beget here on lunch hour. Not sure when I clocked out. Not certain how much of the hour I have left. Who cares. Know I have till 1. Which means, 38 minutes precisely.
Was supposed to have lunch with new friend and co-worker in other department, Abraham, in the “MDU” division. Take him to lunch actually to thank him for all his kindness and help this past Saturday, at the event. But he didn’t know that was today, or that I wanted to take him to lunch, something lost in the translation and delivery of my offer. So, Wednesday, two days from now we lunch. I’m actually grateful to the craft to Craft it worked out as it did so I can write. And now, in the field, now more eating out. That lunch I had in the East Bay, Saturday, at the BBQ place on San Pablo was messy, too expensive, non-flavorful, and just upsetting. Should have had a sandwich at the Subway in front of which we parked. Btu no, I had to do that. No matter. Now forward, I write. I’ll find somewhere quiet and jot. All specifics.. who I canvass with, what new I learn of the company and the product we offer in field, about me in my role, educating the reps, and new reps that come to the company. Now, I’m writing, I’m doing what I do, ME, who I am and what I do but more who I am which is what I do.
Teaching tonight. Nothing prepped. So what. And, no wine tonight so I can wake early tomorrow and put to blog an enormous number of pages. And obnoxious slew of page-storming. More of that from me, now, here, and because of here at this office. Technology isn’t technology, at least to me. It’s relating to the community, connecting people, service and in a way the wine industry only boasts it is but never really embodies. No nugacity in my being here. Everything is significant, significantly sown in new Newness, new significance. Two journals on right, me jumping from one idea to the next. W hat this place does to me. Tomorrow morning I’ll wake earlier than early, and do something, get me closer to my end-Road here at Sonic and with my own projects. I’m not promising, I’m affirming I guess you could say, adamantly affirming my affirmations, inward and outward then back inward, inwardly. Coffee, bag, guys over there playing video games, me here writing which doesn’t make me anything, I’m just a writer in a technology pond. I’m humbled and welcomed and fascinated by the contrast.
No poem written today. Still have to finish the 52-line piece I made loud advancement in the other day. Blockage everything out, forcing self into hallucination where I’m deaf, only hear the keys and some jazz, jazz… I need some but don’t want to play any as the fight agains the noise around me is colorfully stacked in reward and gems philosophical. Catch myself overthinking so I look at the first sentence… no poem written today… I’ll change that in a minute, in the closing frames of this lunch break. Everything in this room is poetic, a form of poetry and poetic narrative, music and song, jazz, a jam session of sounds and the people in my head, audience, hearing everything and moving their heads forth, back, smiling, then I smile too right in front of everyone here and don’t care if I’m observed. This new job, how it has me thinking, how it has me moving more poetically-intoned and intentioned than even the SRJC or any other campus. People in and out, debating over what to eat for lunch from the fridge, talking about their dogs and how they have to fill bowls by their cubicles for their fur-amis. More leave, the others keep playing their game.
Snacks at my desk, so I’m not tempted or tampered with by the chips and cereal, whatever else is in this room with me. Solely coffee. Talking, about work and other, this conversation and that— A poem hops into my head, want to write it down but then I get another idea. The office has me furious and lovingly frazzled with pages, ideas for story, more stories, what I want from life and my own story. Nearly didn’t make it here, and I won’t be doing this come Wednesday. But I’m here now, I tell myself. What am I looking for, from this job, from this office, from this internet service we take to communities?
More sittings like this.
More of this.