Sonically Me


Budget and finances first, then prospecting.  Hoping for at least one contract to land today.

Just back from taking Jack to camp.

Budget done.  Calls done.  Now what.  Running later, should hydrate.

Writing aims into journal…. Music on, and with my own beat at this table.

Cases going up as is the paranoia and reasoned concern.  Changing my entire operational model to be sequestered, internal, virtual and in-house.

Up just before 7 this morning.  Thinking about the wine I had last night from Bill, he finally delivering the case and me having the ’15 RRV Pinot.  That wine making me want to go back entirely to wine, start my online businesses and ride out this covid nonsense.

Covid in my head, in my thinking.  I change the station, something more eased, atmospheric, nearly ambient.  Tycho…. Haven’t listened to these tracks in years.  Always reminds me of the time I did the Napa Wine train, driving out there on Arnold then Liveroni I think to Napa Road.

Cleaned office area. Bit this morning.  Had to.  Was getting to be a ruin box, just something, everything everywhere.

This, part of my book on 41, and I don’t know what the whole of it is.  What am I supposed to be by this age?  What am I supposed to have, supposed to be title-wise…. Where am I supposed to go, see… how should I be seen?

Not useful, thinking that way….  Should ask Karl what he thinks.  Haven’t heard from literary pal in a while.  In this corner, quiet house with these easing Tycho beats… my office, my possibilities and opportunities that I create for myself.  More designing of sites…

Just discovered something.  The day sings to me alongside these beats and we should all feel this no matter our stage in story, age… that conceptual number that denotes and connotes as we permit.

Driving Jack to school this morning he asked me how long I’d been into music, and why I love it so much.  Didn’t have that much of an answer, not expecting just a cross-examiner’s tone from my little Kerouac.  I told him I just love music, and I need it when I drive.  He said nothing.  Just looked out the window and bobbed to the Thievery Corporation playlist.

Aims in journal compile for day, all attainable.  The only one that can stop or stall or call the car is this writer.  This figure in the chair.

Looking for more businesses, in the city.  Told to prospect in Sonoma County, but I’m tiring of this area as I before cited… insurance offices, lawyers, CPAs, construction…. All well and promising.  I just need that Newness, the creative… where do I go.

Keep wandering, roaming, exploring.  Forget the budget, be lost…

Always lose the thoughts from run.  I come back to desk, to this quarantine corner table and can’t answer the page, its line.

“Well?  What do you have for me?” Page ask.

I stare, try to think of an excuse, or some story, lie.  But can’t.