Wondering if we’ll close early here at the tech office.

Desk somehow a mess this morning, and I’m thinking about it way too much.  So plan for start of day, after this entry—get rid of all paper, and clean computer.  Planning and planning, not anything like doing.  Doing is when you do, when there’s something produced.  Not thinking much about wine this morning, but essays, essays I need write, that I need to wake earlier and start and finish in the same day then maybe later edit.  Just thinking out loud and to self this morning.  Was told we’ll be leaving early, more than likely.  I have papers to grade, which I don’t at all want to do but have a new approach I’ll implement—hate that word, implement.  People around me talking and all I can hear is my own voice.  Lunch at 12, where, here…. Snack before so I don’t have to eat anywhere, go to one of the writing pods, or the zen den in the other building.  Finish another wine essay, the 3rd.  Took notes yesterday in comp book, can’t remember for the life of me what they are.

When let go early, go to new writing spot, where I was with leads group member last Friday.  Jack and Tony’s on RR Square.  Writer in corner, one glass of something, thinking that Sonoma-Cutrer.  The ’16.  That Chardonnay reminds me and will forever of the fires of ’17, when my family was in that hotel, Rohnert Park.  I detest Chardonnay normally but they had the shit on-tap and I couldn’t get enough of it.  And Chardonnay of all things.

Sitting here at my desk and not knowing what the hell to do.  Prospect, of course, or write new letters to prospects, or write something for the tech company.. make movements, make waves, be disruptive.  Disrupt everything.  If we do leave early, that means I have not much time if any time at all to do something, to either “make a difference”, another set of words I loathe, or contribute.

Write letters to prospects….

Re-write company’s thesis…..

Talk about this shit as you do wine, and literature…. Wine and literature—

Dog in other cubicle areas playing with some squeaky toy and I just want to yell for it to shut the fuck up.  Of course I don’t, rather embrace it as a combustive suggestion, to write more…. Write quicker, and with more animation, like little lectures on this company and its theses.  Everything is wine, I remind myself.  Everything.

The sound from that dog’s toy becomes irritating to a wild world and volume, level.  A world to its own particularity and volume.  I can’t stand it.  So I write through it as I tell students to do if ever in a such a seat.  Speaking of, I should write the students from last night, last night’s meeting of course being cancelled from a transformer, or multiple transformers exploding.

Just wrote students.  Stay in that professor, or educator, teacher or instruction, instructor, mode.  I keep telling self that especially after all the remarks, all the not so much praise but acknowledgement.  Find a spot to write, for lunch. Where… where….  That bakery down the street or—Wait, I already decided I’m staying here.  See?  SEE???????????  This is why you should never think as a writer or anyone wanting their own shop, or office.

One idea for an essay, then another… all from red wine varietals.  Cab, blends, the blend I was going to have last night at bloody Steele & Hops before turning into that parking lot from Steele to find the goddamn power was out.

The sounds of the office now make an odd, Wonderland-like orchestra.  Dogs chewing on some wooden, or plastic, or mock-bone thing, talking and typing, footsteps from a woman with boots of some kind or heels that are dull-sharp.  The dog chews again, someone in the NOC typing faster than I ever could hope to.  And it’s not even 9.  Good, I say to myself. More time to write… writing out a plan for day, and I don’t like doing that as I’ve found knowing me that’s the best way to ensure it doesn’t happen.

Wait, I’ll type it here—

= 3000 words before class.  (One essay, two 1000-word entries)

= Letters to prospects.  (1-3 versions)

= Papers graded creatively (1B)

= Lecture notes for tonight

= 1 pages on DTC for SSU contact

8:55.  Latte nearly done.  Moving money around, putting cash into new blog, the wine blog, my ‘vinovinevin’ project.  Approaching wine from more perspectives and perceptions than anyone would expect. 

Should start hitting list now, I guess.  Ugh… sluggish this morning.  New character, dog chewing, ignore it.  It’s more a challenge than I estimated.  So what then.  What to do…  Laptop on.  The other one, the one from her school.  Is it charged?  Hard to tell.  Don’t want to turn around and check and be pulled from this laptop key field.

Afraid I doomed my day’s aims by typing them above.  Shit.  What od I do.  Don’t want to delete them.

Then don’t.

Hear people laughing in other area, wondering what they’re laughing at, about.  I need more comedy, more jokes, joke about the tasting room, what people say, how tasting room managers don’t manage a goddamn thing much less themselves.  Forget about their staff, they can’t see straight nor can they concentrate on issues of gravity, even small microscopic importance.

With a mood you miss opportunity.  That’s why I’m not letting this one put me deeper in its palm.  Wine, writing about it, about HER. Giving her voice no but translating the bewildering and often underestimated extensiveness of her world and tongue.  What if that’s it, to this morning, to what’s around me, what do in writing the prospecting letters and calls to make… definition. Understanding.  Not conceptualization but the philosophy and communication, the life and personality of it.  CHARACTER.  That’s it.  Yeah I’ve written that before but…. This morning it sounds different, feels a new way.  WAIT… ACT ON THIS.

Starting with first letter.

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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