So I stop, realize.  Hear people walking, returning to desk from break and person telling another what they missed.  Busy office, activity, transacting.  Someone just said, “The fires made me proactive”.  Work, WORK.  I write about work and what it does, and what it now does to me, this writer here in a tech office, hard to qualify, categorize.  This job, from the grocery story gig on peninsula… OH.. was going o call on this one business, but forgot which one.  Doesn’t matter, I can find another—OH, the insurance office in Petaluma.  There you go, I say to myself.  Being an AE is like, well, more than a juggling act.  A metaphor I head far before I really started moving in this new story.  Ugh, I’m thinking too much about what to write rather than just writing what I’m doing.  Which is, frankly, looking at clock and waiting departure.  Not the usual me, if you know me.

No winery on Sunday, asked friend whose family owns a property off Occidental Road if there’s any help she needs.  No response. Know some readers will be like “What they fuck are you doing?  Take the day off, be with your family… USE THE TIME TO DEVELOP A PRODUCT.” Very true, very true.  And with no winery to-do’s on Sunday, I can maybe go tasting, somewhere, take notes and write an actual wine track.  American Dream, no, but the Mike Madigan dream.  Keep typing and fuck if it makes sense… Want a Cabernet, some way.. where.  Don’t want to go where I did last night for dinner.  Much too loud.  And I think that one spot on Stony Point closed down, something about their liquor license being pulled.