And my entangled conceptions of Now. Calming, but still with that eagerness.

Thinking of lead generation, and doing something for generating new leads.  Pausing first though.  Late tonight, early tomorrow….

Saying that again….  LATE TONIGHT, EARLY TOMRROW. 

4AM.  I’m doing it.  Sleeping with laptop next to me, on dresser.  Write down everything.  Coffee mug, 1948 journal, cell phone messages backing up on both phones…. Oliver’s for lunch today.  Wine with another AE tonight, throw ideas around.

Bathroom break….

Back and through about scraping the top paragraphs from the page, as they’re planning and promissory.  Rather, I’m keeping them there.  Opening blinds.  Just looks cold.  My sweater on, heater just ignited, and I’m still cold.

10:44 Writing break.  Yes, another break.  Latte still alive, but barely.  Maybe two or three sips left.  Depends on how intent I am with more caffeine.  Kids upstairs still in school.  Getting frustrated with prospecting and sales, and everything in the AE life during quarantine.  This SIP bullshit.  I’m not opposed to it. I def’ don’t want to get covid, but it’s maddening just the reality of now.

No one wants to read complaints, or recital and repetition of grievances.  I sure as fuck don’t.  So I take myself to somewhere wine reigns and speaks one street and vineyard block to next.  Talking to another AE about wine now over company chat platform.  More I think about wine, the more I need to put into it. As a concurrent effort, not just a “side gig”.  Hate that term.

Read an article earlier today about imposter syndrome, by Sophia Amoruso.  Maybe I’m feeling a little bit of that this morning, I don’t know.  Like a quick and decided bond of worry and uncertainty, maybe they’re the same thing.  Moving on and keeping moving either way.  Don’t care what its classification is.  And why am I still talking about it?

Last night, having some Caddis Chardonnay.  And like that, no wine in home.  I’ll take a drive and get some later.  Some to write, and study.  Or not study maybe just write.  Like I’m doing now… trying to pull mind away from being an AE on lockdown and trying to find new business. 

Had an idea and acted upon it.  Do it again, I bellow to myself.  Henry voicing dissatisfaction about something.  Emma running back and forth and the stomps sound like an actual bull is up there the same way they are in Spain, running, just running over shit.  She’s so small, how does she make that sound with her soles?

Need more wines I’ve never heard of.  We all say that, yet stick to what comforts. Hmm…..  So, wine and my wine story, again knocking internally, drumming loudly and like a trapped badger, or agitated wolverine.  Wrote an idea in journal.  Write it again.  Expand fromf that… start with the tasting room, then to winemaking, then to walking a vineyard at Kunde as I used to on lunch and same with Dutcher Crossing.  And now at a desk, all the years behind me collected and now begging I write them.

Wine, brazen in her visit, comforting in her code.