That wine we had at dinner, that the hostess picked for us, was it a Rhône blend? Have to look. On way back to house I thought of the kids and they helping me with a harvest one day, helping my sister with de-stemming or hand-selection on the belt. I think they’d like that. This one looks good, this one….
Sad, and a little angry, missing my kids. Breathing, noting everything as my parents do. When I woke up this morning.. I don’t know, I think 8:04 was the first time I saw accompanied by a message from ……. Into shower, dressed, make coffee, Nook writing… dealing with this fucking cramp in neck and shoulder. Hard to tell where it is. Ugh….
Quick thing then leave… Love my drive up 12, through Glen Ellen, then finally getting to the Square. Always passes so quickly… Super Bowl today, little gathering here at house, then the Week starts.
10:13, Peet’s on Broadway. 3-shot latte, no breakfast sandwich or croissant or anything accompanying. So tempted, but resisted. Staying in fast till I get back to Skyhawk house. Light crowd there, but still enough humans to write about if I chose. Two men to my left just a few feet away by the window. One man shows the other something on his phone, pushing buttons and scrolling.
Not sure why I’m working today, to be honest, or at all every other Sunday. Could be spending Sundays building BDX and #prospectesk. Message Trenton and told him we should do a call this week at some point regarding new prospects. I have not forgotten about quota 2022, and the war I’m waging on it. Everything for the AE story then migrate it to BDX and Mike Madigan…. Something for my kids later should they want to go into tech and internet, blogging and media, publishing.. marketing and sales. Feeling something at this Peet’s. Pugilistic spirit and sight, sensibilities.
I’m not rolling over, for anything or anyone. That’s how I’m feeling. The fear has left me universally. None of it is there, at all. What happened? Was it Denise’s words yesterday? Is it this week and approaching events? Who cares… I fear nothing. One minute it’s one face and identity, then other another. Guess that’s life, to some. This instance is different as I’m tired of certain voices and some people’s intentions.
Not elaborating but rather further situating in the morning. This latte which isn’t as good as I remember my last here. Sip slow, let temperature come down. So much making sense to me now. Perfect timing.
More walk in, rush to line needing coffee this morning. I’m going to have to quit this Sunday thing eventually, I know… be totally in tech and Startup presence.
Shit have to leave in three. Time is something that just attacks and moves, cares nothing about us. Writers don’t have hours and weeks and years to finish something. Just put it to fucking page and move on. I’m absolutely a fighting writer this morning. No sexy synonyms or syllabic dress… WRITER. FIGHTER.