Moi Doc


Class later.  Not thinking about that now.  Nor what I have to do in a couple minutes with prospecting and calling on businesses.  Just enjoying my half-hour of collection here on page.  Had a Syrah last night from Westwood.  Another case of wine not saying much to me.  May be growing. Out of wine, in which case the wine shop or ‘blog-shop’ would be quieted as a project altogether…. Is it indicative of sickness that I bounce back and forth and all around about projects?  Is it a weakness?  Heard someone say it’s a strength, and maybe it is, but how.  How is that a strength if you don’t complete much, if you’re not centralized and contained…. Questions, and many of them about me this morning.

Have to do budget but putting it off.  Just took ledger out from under the stack on this small table that I’m forced to use as a desk.  I would jut use the couch as I’ve said I would, but that’s a hard practice to start. And honestly, I feel more writer-y here.  I feel more what I want to be, staying at the desk.

Have to make calls today.  No escaping it.  Use the lists given to you and work from there.  Forget numbers and proposals, contracts sent to prospects.  Everyday start new.  Sales…. Trying to get out while focusing on everything inside its sounds and movement, cries and calls.  Make it something else, a new writing assignment everyday.  24 hours ago focusing on PR firms and Marketing agencies, ad houses, what I sometimes imagine me having.  Putting self in that character, that voice, like the guy from Mad Men.  Kind of.

Have to call one guy complaining about his bill, which I don’t want to.  Then from there make calls… dental office and Architect in Berkeley to start.  The bullseye as Warren Buffet tells me to focus on, for me, is the office. MY, office.  What would we do there.  Blog, sell.  Like I put on the back of those business cards I had made and didn’t much use.  Where’d they go?  Think I have an idea.  Just why I need my own Room.  You could call it an office, or studio, but as a writer I see it as a ROOM.  Mine… where pages are on the floor, no worry of kid or other invasion.  Just me, my floor.

8:47am Readying for call.  Have to plan tonight’s class, and the whole will be on essay defiance.  Defining one’s stylistics of essay writing.  Thinking of the reader, getting more into it… the IT of it all.  Been wanting to do this, have a series of essays on essay writing, on thesis support and how I say “forget the thesis”, and what that means.

Henry upstairs making sounds, probably hungry, or wanting attention.  A developing human, character, story, his and mine.  Me with three lives that look to ME.  Interesting.  Didn’t see this in the story if you asked me ten years ago, like when I graduated high school the ceremony at St. Mary’s Cathedral in SF, if the now-me told then-me all this, I don’t know what he would think….  That’s senseless to think about.  Here you are.  An AE for a tech company, but more.  Not just that.  More…. Essays and notes on the most YOU of you’s.

This table, since March.  Like my runway, not so much a home.  A corner, not a desk.  No matter how I try to keep free of articles and pieces of life, it compiles and continues to be this mountain of unavoidable visual.  I have gum next to the laptop, a small container, why.  Maybe I have some obsessive illness.  Not OCD, but something else.  Something serious.  Something warranting a pill or treatment.  Some weird book of brain exercises or affirmations.  This table makes me think that.  Quit the table… that’s what tI need to do.  Easy.  Just get up, walk over to the couch behind you, and sit.  Work.  And don’t move.  Something new, another not-desk.