Line at Starbucks, came straight to office. Yet to get coffee. Laptop working fine, now, this one and personal. Cash saved from what I would have spent at bux. Saving for new laptop, needed, and car. Today, I will be extra obsessive about writing everything and putting to blog and deconstructing, further considering later. Everything today, syllogistic in reality. The money, what I want, how to get. New habit… writing my own books on waking early, running, budgeting, Equilibrium (not just happiness). Today, 12th day of the new year and I feel shifts in my universe. In office now with heater on and me wearing sweater as the temp outside reminds me to pack and dress warm, that it’s pen weather, the climate for composition.
No lunch in field, other than the words, the work. Eating string cheese right now, pretending it’s my omelet. Or not so much fabricating but thoroughly believing. What I see is in no way venal. It’s primordial, from when I came to the story, my story, where I am now and what’s to be done to get to where I need be. What I see. Omelet done, now sipping sparkling water, 8:08, day just starting, the chapter just getting out to runway ready to take off sweater, put $6 in part of wallet, like a back slide-in pocket where I usually stuff money for saving, for something. Hear phones in other department ringing. Work, I tell self. Work. Aims for day—Lunch by self, no money spent in field, on ANYTHING (even coffee or a latte), transfer money to savings, make credit card dent again (Ahead of that, mind you, the payment schedule.), write random and crazy ideas. True dreams and visions… the more unusual, bizarre and ‘a stretch’ the better. Nothing is achieved without enthusiasm but as well certainly no greatness can be lived without being a bit mad. Or, completely mad. Made of creative lunacy and embracing whim as this company’s leader has shown.
8:14, thinking of time and each minute being its own teacher and class, moving from course to course, skating in surfing in dreams. Need coffee, need a pen, journal, already 8:15 and I’m catching the day, writing the book on time and how to rule it, not so much control it but navigate most advantageously your own. What’s happiness to me, how to live in joyful jaunt, starts in thought. Acknowledging your decisions, the power of them all and how when you make one the story’s moved one way or the other. Like with the visit to Starbucks, walking to the front door I told self that if I saw even a small line I would turn around and walk back to car, get coffee at office. I saw a medieval dragon’s tail of a line, and did just what I said I would. That that I’m to be commended, but I see the results of the antithetical action if I’d done so.
8:22. Still no coffee but did some things for work, for my role here. The office this morning seems more soundless than usual. I’ll get up and walk to building’s other side, use restroom then get coffee, then come back and do a couple more things, then take a writing break, plan day some more, writing down the wildly seeming-stretch dreams of mine… house in Monterey, apartment in New York, writing flat in Paris, running in the Alps, marathon in Spain… What’s the composition of the bridge from here to there. What I’m learning today.
8:28. Another snack, still with sparkling water. I CANNOT eat out in the field, San Francisco…. I paint a visual in my head, a scene, me in car writing while looking out at ocean and I mean really writing in the Germany journal and not on phone or company tablet. Ask the waves for something, see what they say, listen for their close and concise counsel. So many have so many ideas on goals and how to “reach” goals and live some standard of living… right now I’m thinking geography, thought, how if thoughts are assembled with certain rhythms and framing that whatever you see for self can be attained. Bites from snack, listening to conversations around office and some frog somewhere out in parking lot. The little guy calls quite loudly, like he’s with a thesis for me, some new idea, something to write down. My philosophy prince, perhaps. My Machiavelli.
May drive straight to city, not stop at gas station with sales team as we usually do but get to SF as quick as I can, write some thoughts in car, walk around the upper 40 Avenues, listen to some starting songs from the Pacific. This morning, I’m eased, simplified, set on my Road to reasoning with self how to get that self more self. Senses of, all that I can find and then later put to page. A new behest, this day’s thousand, or more.
Tired of snacking, the sound in my own ears from my own chewing so I tell self that was the last bite for a bit. Last night I wrote about wine for the first time in weeks, maybe more than a month. Wrote about it seriously and with intimate perambulation. How the Syrah sang, her notes, I was in a Beat that I haven’t felt in a while. Like I was back home or has found some instrument I’d lost but now had again and could play just as fluently and loudly and accurately as I could before. When I turned away from that line this morning I thought of that last glass, last night at the kitchen island counter, and if I would have stayed in that line the same story and rhythm would have persisted and what I want is the New, Newness in each drive to this part of Santa Rosa. The Syrah reminded me this morning, and last night around 10, that I have time, but not so much time I can be careless. Not anymore.