Already sent emails and submitted a revised contract. My Sales Engineer reading my mind, already reaching out to the prospect that’s all but requested a contract to sign. We’re doing one last call I believe at 9:30. A fascinating human, my Engineer, I have to say. The way he writes, is organized, very journalistic in the way he communicates in writing – the who, when, why, where, how…. Don’t want to say curt, or to the point, but Hemingway-like. I tell him he’s worth every fucking cent and to not make plans for next Friday, so I can thank him with a dinner. He tells me he’ll be out of town that day, so I ask for after.
Before 9:30 call, shave for fuck’s sake. Sipping coffee now, no Starbucks this morning. And that has to be a rarity, going forward. More than pinching pennies but saving for a formed and renewed reality. Car…. Office…. The beach house of course.
Switch in music… John Coltrane. My soul brother of soul brothers. How he goes from notes to notes and switches sequences and further charms you. Current track, no surprise, “In A Sentimental Mood”. Fitting…. The story is about to shift, and significantly. Much past merely being ready, but eager.
More music, like I always note. And SHIT… my poetry streak. Well, obviously broken. So then I restart today.
Wrote a quick poem, “If you see me sitting on a bench”. Written in like two minutes, just the thought, some inner-dialogue, spacing and settlement.
9:09… shit, should probably shave. Learned it’s a colleague’s birthday. She turns 40. Ugh, then remembering I’m 42. Time to live more madly, I realize. Truly be one of the mad ones Kerouac spoke of.