project

Day TWENTY-THREE

Starting at Jimtown, as often on a Sunday in my wine life.  Since shooting from pillow and sheet, thinking re-start, and re-write.  We have ever opportunities and invitation for re-writing the story, for starting over if we elect.  Right now, more decisions to be maddened closer to Day HUNDRED, so much of the page stack not yet written, and unread.  So, proceeding forward into horizon.

Thinking of essays this morning, what this day is, essay-wise.  The argument.  The centrality, and reality, manifold duality.  Where I am, Jimtown.  What I’m doing, writing before Week 2 of the semester that wasn’t supposed to happen.  What I’m learning, already—no rush.  In this re-write, I see more.  I’m calm.  There will be certain facets certainly cut off.  The idea of work, what it is for so many.  What it could be, why so many don’t let themselves be happy.  Why they don’t create madly, and let the vessel go to crashing.  Making decisions, this morning.  About everything.  Everything for my positions, for my identities, narratives…. Writer in a tech company, as an Account Executive no less, and me in the classroom.  Write everything.  The new bridges won’t frighten if not allowed.  Everything is everything, and the every-ness of each stretch is connected.

Back room at Jimtown, wine life Sunday but there’s more than just wine and this 23rd day in the project.  But…. Place.  More music, more verse, all opportunity and doors open sing to me, to US, this morning and all days.  Stress is permitted.  In this room, in your room, wherever you are, decide to be MAD.  With your story fiery and tireless, moving to your frame envisioned.  I share where I am and my work story from wanting for others to make theirs completely under their compositional control.  Thinking too much will not lead to creative, will not lead to production and the architecture of your aptness.

Just now, caught self thinking, and overthinking.  This morning is precisely what this “professor” needed.  Readings starting this next week, for the two classes I somehow inherited.  Teaching, and teaching what.  WORK.  For students to not only take ownership of their work, but see it as a self-educating ebb.  In my staying thinking at this table, I wonder if anyone else has ever written here.  And what discussions have been had here, and on what.  Who has sat where I’m sitting, what families have been in this part of the back room, and what did they talk about.  Where do they live, full-time.  What brought them to Sonoma County.

What I do for work, blogging and writing about work, but thinking about more than what’s to be thought of, irrelevant of what the clock was, is.  Dismiss my inner-pessimist, and have the day speak to me.  Where I am, what I’m doing in the back dining room of this market, quasi-restaurant.  9:16, should get on the Road in a bit…. Walk a vineyard, let the clusters help me ideas muster.  For the day, for the week.  Can write anything into tangibility in your re-start and re-write.  Looking at every antique and tool and thing in this room, where I’m working.  Seeing the images, work to itself even if not written.  It, they, assist in compounding and composing character.