1/28/19

8:49.

Busy.  Busier than busy.  Love it.  Addicted to the project accumulation and beat, this morning.  This beat, this one, I’ll keep.

 

Mike reminds self of victory this morning in not getting a latte, saving both time and money.  He feels a cold coming on but refuses to give it any acknowledgement or time.

Mike decides to know his Now as thoroughly and intimately as he can, and however long he stays in class tonight that will be much of his thesis.  Knowing Now, the Now, the Now you’re in and need write.

 

The way we do notes here at Sonic truly has me writing differently.  To myself, about self, about what I want for self, and the principles I institute in the moment.  In the present, where there’s the most life— Present Tense is the only tense that makes sense.  Capitalization is justified as it’s a capital idea, capitalizing on the Now begets and breeds more life, more ideas and insight.  Decide the day, the way, YOUR way, the new way of YOU.

Work is the intoxicant.  Stay trapped in its act and math.  Write and read You, not as you.  Value in objective consideration of your movements and sight, actuations and possibilities.

Former student messages me for some “wisdom”. I ask if she’s okay and she says yes but struggles with the decision concerning career.  Wrote her, “Don’t focus on the career, or selecting one.  Give your ideas to inward exploration and aims you want to see materialized.  Rather than pressure yourself, deconstruct your curiosities.  Have to laugh a bit, or not so much laugh but collect self and meditate in where I am in life.  Was where she is, now.  I remember it, but even deciding I wanted to pursue English and Literature, changed.  With wine, and now with Sonic.  Hate to see her pressure herself.  She’ll be fine.  She’s smart, and tireless in her scholastic efforts and habits.  Her message lifted my morning, and now the cold symptoms or whatever that was I woke with, not present.  Like a ghost that stay a bit for a haunt, then lost interest in pestering me.

 

Mike writes notes to himself.  On post-it’s.  Litters the surface of his work area with them.  Mike jokingly told someone in another department, the recruiter that actually recruited Mike, that one day Mike will own Sonic, and that Dane can retire early.  A joke yes but as Mike walked to the coffee spot, not so much a joke.  That was his aim… the platform to the platform itself.  Dane advised, “Use this as a platform to get what you want.” Mike promised self that he would save to one day invest heavily in the company.  A new goal… this day, giving him a goal, much like the career goal markers he had along his story… wanting to be a paleontologist when a kid from his love of all the dinosaur types and species, their teeth and tails.  Then a pro baseball player, a goal that lasted from about 10 or 11 till about 16 just before his surgery.  Then, to be an English Professor.  Those goals, the only definitive ones that would comprise his aspiration pattern.  And now, to own Sonic.  How to do so….  Mike takes more notes than he can write, in head then some to paper, distracted by a vision then a post-it again.  Mike had no true aims in the wine industry, partially why he left.  Mike retired, in his mind.  Now, he’s a consumer, and not much one at that as now he wishes to cut back, immensely on consumption.  Maybe one day he’d own a small label, but why.

 

10:45, looking at notes from tablet I use in Field—

 

Berkeley, beyond beautiful today.

Fee like it’s too hot for this hoodie. Or warm.

1/23

Deciding I’m taking lunch. By self. To write.

In the Field, you see everything differently. As part of a map, as part of a plan, but not one rigid or suffocating.

On Monterey Avenue, looking at houses. I want houses in several points on map… Monterey, Bend, New York. Write books at each.

Thinking about writing and teaching tonight, more than lunch, for once.

1/24/19

1227– Warm. Changing mood and attitude and the day follows suit.

So nice to be able to be outside, on a day like this, in Berkeley, for work… for this… the stories.. my story in the street.

122– Thought is trapped in something, but I think it’s the mulch or fertilizer or soil behind me I smell. Lady riding her bike up Marin Avenue. Have to run, tonight.

135… today, spring octave and feel… sun and how the birds sound. They’re not speaking winter today.

1:55… can only think about running.

2:08 each word said by anyone near me, teaching me. More animation in everything, from class to page.

210– Field Sales, I now see, only now, this day, on whatever street this is in Albany… Tulare Avenue. Walking and speaking and noting and observing, learning… model for me and my story, only today do I adequately grasp.

 

10:49

The Field, a place of not only education and growth, but dreaming, seeing, speaking.  More than a “platform”.  It, this, is a window and door, gate and bridge.

11:27 and feeling tired.  May go straight to bed after class.  What do I do for lunch.  Should get out of the office, work at the coffee spot down the street.  Not in the mood for the new breakroom, that nook.

 

Mike slows down.  Takes a breath.  Refuses to let the cold or whatever it is grip him too thoroughly.  He coughs twice, thinks about tomorrow, being in the Field, in SF, Richmond district where it’s cold and a bit unforgiving in conditions.

Mike looks left and sees his journal, the one he’s jotted in and used for his inward jots since being hired by Sonic.  He opens it.  Writes.  Anything coming to and staying in mind, taking loving residency.

Mike decides he’ll post at day’s end.  Make practice of this, day’s he’s in office.  And ones he’s not.  He’d post everything, everything.  Study it all, deconstruct his curiosities as he urged Keila, earlier.

Sonic is more than a simple platform.  A divine dais, for him, his story.  For anyone, really.  Not just the technology or consumer advocacy and ideology, or even how desirable a place it is to work, or even the story of how it came to be.  Its present, identity, the voice and coherence of its music…  Sonic is music.  Tracks Mike becomes addicted to and can’t turn off as he’s unable to, thoughts will quite literally not allow such.

 

Need to set a goal for lunch.  What.  What do I set for self?  Do I go out? Do I stay in…  Stop overthinking.  In fact, stop thinking.  Thinking that cafe right down the street, on Sebastopol Road past that main entrance to the condos or apartments, whatever they are.  Done.  Decided.  Can’t remember what I had there last time, but it wasn’t bad.

 

Mike looks at clock, 11:50, at peace with his decision to eat at the little deli or café down the road.

 

1:26.  Back from lunch.  Texanita, what was chosen.  Had water with shrimp quesa’.  Now, readying for training of new-hire.

What’s my happiness “hack”?  No hack.  Just decision, and actuation.  Desk a bit disheveled but I’m not at all bothered by it.  The “real time” ideology and practice tickling me, enticing me into new idea rooms, walking though new truisms, and with them.

 

Mike waits for 2pm.  He’s ready.  Feeling better.  More awake from this newest coffee he just grabbed from the machine across the floor.  He vows to self to not force pace, to be objective, consider him as someone else, an observe.  He will deconstruct his curiosities.  Mike tells self again how ready he is.

The day tells Mike to propel more wildly and creatively, be more free in his Now.  The philosophy of Now, the Now itself and its composition….  Something to bring up tonight in class, he thinks.

Mike wants to track his self-education and guidance, much the same way the Field Sales Leads do with their Reps, and how Mike does so with the Leads.  Mike refuses to obsess over pace, and/or anything quantitative.

 

4:54.  Couple more obligations then leave for school.  Dreaming about bed, right now.  I’m tired and don’t think any more coffee would necessarily help, to be honest.

Class… getting in mode, and mood, even though I’d love to just post it and go home and get into bed.  Forcing self to teach.  Let the pace dictate itself, don’t force it or anything about it.

The contour presents itself, materializes in worded form and not.  Insinuation of the demands of the stage and characters, me being one of them seeing all of it, feeling each step in getting to my There.

Sipping sparkling water now.  My character knows its plan, the mission of tonight and the week’s remainder.  Inventorying each effort, or re-writing them.  Keep writing, keep the narration aloft and moving, for me and every incremental musing.

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mikemadigan

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