Wondering if we’ll close early here at the tech office.

Desk somehow a mess this morning, and I’m thinking about it way too much.  So plan for start of day, after this entry—get rid of all paper, and clean computer.  Planning and planning, not anything like doing.  Doing is when you do, when there’s something produced.  Not thinking much about wine this morning, but essays, essays I need write, that I need to wake earlier and start and finish in the same day then maybe later edit.  Just thinking out loud and to self this morning.  Was told we’ll be leaving early, more than likely.  I have papers to grade, which I don’t at all want to do but have a new approach I’ll implement—hate that word, implement.  People around me talking and all I can hear is my own voice.  Lunch at 12, where, here…. Snack before so I don’t have to eat anywhere, go to one of the writing pods, or the zen den in the other building.  Finish another wine essay, the 3rd.  Took notes yesterday in comp book, can’t remember for the life of me what they are.

When let go early, go to new writing spot, where I was with leads group member last Friday.  Jack and Tony’s on RR Square.  Writer in corner, one glass of something, thinking that Sonoma-Cutrer.  The ’16.  That Chardonnay reminds me and will forever of the fires of ’17, when my family was in that hotel, Rohnert Park.  I detest Chardonnay normally but they had the shit on-tap and I couldn’t get enough of it.  And Chardonnay of all things.

Sitting here at my desk and not knowing what the hell to do.  Prospect, of course, or write new letters to prospects, or write something for the tech company.. make movements, make waves, be disruptive.  Disrupt everything.  If we do leave early, that means I have not much time if any time at all to do something, to either “make a difference”, another set of words I loathe, or contribute.

Write letters to prospects….

Re-write company’s thesis…..

Talk about this shit as you do wine, and literature…. Wine and literature—

Dog in other cubicle areas playing with some squeaky toy and I just want to yell for it to shut the fuck up.  Of course I don’t, rather embrace it as a combustive suggestion, to write more…. Write quicker, and with more animation, like little lectures on this company and its theses.  Everything is wine, I remind myself.  Everything.

The sound from that dog’s toy becomes irritating to a wild world and volume, level.  A world to its own particularity and volume.  I can’t stand it.  So I write through it as I tell students to do if ever in a such a seat.  Speaking of, I should write the students from last night, last night’s meeting of course being cancelled from a transformer, or multiple transformers exploding.

Just wrote students.  Stay in that professor, or educator, teacher or instruction, instructor, mode.  I keep telling self that especially after all the remarks, all the not so much praise but acknowledgement.  Find a spot to write, for lunch. Where… where….  That bakery down the street or—Wait, I already decided I’m staying here.  See?  SEE???????????  This is why you should never think as a writer or anyone wanting their own shop, or office.

One idea for an essay, then another… all from red wine varietals.  Cab, blends, the blend I was going to have last night at bloody Steele & Hops before turning into that parking lot from Steele to find the goddamn power was out.

The sounds of the office now make an odd, Wonderland-like orchestra.  Dogs chewing on some wooden, or plastic, or mock-bone thing, talking and typing, footsteps from a woman with boots of some kind or heels that are dull-sharp.  The dog chews again, someone in the NOC typing faster than I ever could hope to.  And it’s not even 9.  Good, I say to myself. More time to write… writing out a plan for day, and I don’t like doing that as I’ve found knowing me that’s the best way to ensure it doesn’t happen.

Wait, I’ll type it here—

= 3000 words before class.  (One essay, two 1000-word entries)

= Letters to prospects.  (1-3 versions)

= Papers graded creatively (1B)

= Lecture notes for tonight

= 1 pages on DTC for SSU contact

8:55.  Latte nearly done.  Moving money around, putting cash into new blog, the wine blog, my ‘vinovinevin’ project.  Approaching wine from more perspectives and perceptions than anyone would expect. 

Should start hitting list now, I guess.  Ugh… sluggish this morning.  New character, dog chewing, ignore it.  It’s more a challenge than I estimated.  So what then.  What to do…  Laptop on.  The other one, the one from her school.  Is it charged?  Hard to tell.  Don’t want to turn around and check and be pulled from this laptop key field.

Afraid I doomed my day’s aims by typing them above.  Shit.  What od I do.  Don’t want to delete them.

Then don’t.

Hear people laughing in other area, wondering what they’re laughing at, about.  I need more comedy, more jokes, joke about the tasting room, what people say, how tasting room managers don’t manage a goddamn thing much less themselves.  Forget about their staff, they can’t see straight nor can they concentrate on issues of gravity, even small microscopic importance.

With a mood you miss opportunity.  That’s why I’m not letting this one put me deeper in its palm.  Wine, writing about it, about HER. Giving her voice no but translating the bewildering and often underestimated extensiveness of her world and tongue.  What if that’s it, to this morning, to what’s around me, what do in writing the prospecting letters and calls to make… definition. Understanding.  Not conceptualization but the philosophy and communication, the life and personality of it.  CHARACTER.  That’s it.  Yeah I’ve written that before but…. This morning it sounds different, feels a new way.  WAIT… ACT ON THIS.

Starting with first letter.

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Sipper Journal

Finished essay last night.  Editing tonight, or today at some point.  Meeting at Sonoma State in wine business department.  Day 15 of the Second Pass at 100 Days, the 100 days that will see me to the Road, you know, what I always say.  So much I want to do today, and so much story I want to, hope to put into the world.  In the office as an Account Executive, today, and walking to the building I thought of how this will shoot me to the writing moon, my writing moon.  The caffeine not working, not yet.  I haven’t been risen from the thick of some editions and walks.  Yesterday in the tasting room, not having any tours, but poured for a couple people, sold some bottles, two magnums of the ’15 to one guy, a wine club member.  And this recent invitation to possibly lecture on tasting room operations and hospitality, interesting.  How do I approach it.  Well, of course as me you sill sonofabitch I say to myself here at the desk enjoying the morning and the fact that I’m only in office three days this week.  Not necessarily happy about that, as I get more than much writing done here.  Anymore this is where my dream is, my manuscripts, the book about wine and about whatever, my essay collections, business notes, everything from this desk.

Yesterday Taryn sharing that Pinot Noir with us before any visitors, tasters arrived.  Blinding us on something, didn’t see anything, not the bagged bottle or her pouring it, she just came to the little seated area in the salon with four glasses.  One for me, one for Larissa and Loralei, Taryn with hers..  WE sat around and looked at the Master Somm sheets, something I always mock but being that this tasting I was with friends I’d bd engaged, not rattle off and machine gun in my asshole anti-industry jabs and vocal jots.  I knew it was Pinot, the wine herself was telling me.  It was obvious, loud, beautiful, palate tryst.  Tasting, easy to confirm.  This is Pinot.  Everyone around me agreed.  Taryn with her silence, admiring the color and sharing her notes and individual insinuations from the wine.  I wanted this one, I had to get it right, or not get it right but know that I don’t bullshit when it comes to wine.  Used to do this daily when helping out at Arista, even one time guessing a Tempranillo, vintage and varietal, even the ABV, but I said it was from Amador or something.  It was from Texas.

“Okay, so do you guys wanna guess what it is?” Taryn said.  Everyone said Pinot, but not much beyond that.  I shared my notes, “New World, Pinot Noir, 2016, and either from Sonoma County or Anderson Valley.” T reveals bottle, 2016 Anderson Valley Golden Eye Pinot.  One of my most sought and preferred Pinot producers ever, easily.  Wasn’t proud of myself, but intrigued, finely engaged and interested by what the wine said to me.  What wine herself was saying to me.  I saw something, felt something, more so than tasted.  Confirmed, this is all I should be writing, and the people…. Who sips with you.  What you talk about, where you are.  Here I am, supposed to be working, much as you can work in a tasting room or at a winery, and sharing ideas and interpretations on a voice, what walked from the purple puddle.

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Cru Track

Decided to come into office to write.  Not to catch up on anything, but write myself out of this mood I’m in.  And on my day off no less.  Light Coltrane through phone, hear some people in the dispatch department, I think, laughing.  Enjoying their day.  I vow do the same.  I’m also affirming consolidation as I have so many times before.  Being more a simple diarist, page-churning chap.  You know, one with less than a jillion notebooks and journals.

Tasting later, possibly, with all the time I have to self today.  What is the mood, what does it consist of…..  What varietal.  Is it my vintage?  Old bastard…. No.  Hard if not irrational to enumerate qualities or traits.  Well, I say to self, TRY.  One… certain words, from certain people—their reactions and insistence on griping even after greeted with only generosity and consistent willingness.  But if that’s the nexus and spark of the irregular angularity about me today then that’s easy, oui?  Simply deny them their connection, their gravity and significance, no matter how seemingly significant in the story.  They, overestimate their significance and perceived navigational adeptness.

Cold in the office.  Nothing yet to eat.  Brought in backpack.  Think I might finally surrender it, give it up.  Sought for a while but proving difficult.  Want to be the writer only seen with his Comp Book.  One I bought last weekend before tasting at Aperture Cellars, not a single scribble in it.  Yet.  Yet…. Could change today with a visit, where.  Glen Ellen, haven’t been there in a while, and so many of my saints spent time and scribbled there.  Listening to this track, not sure then name, but Mr. Coltrane has me escaping, away from this mood or downed ebb and pattern.  Not sure this is the spot where I should be writing though, truthfully.  So I block it out, much I love my desk and the company, nearly everyone I work with and coming to work, scanning my badge and walking to desk, clocking in (not today), and getting coffee in the back room.  Barrier warranted.

On mind, wine.  Visiting tasting rooms, something like… I don’t know.  That feeling when you go somewhere for the first time.  So many of the spots I visit I’ve been to over and over, and even where there’s a new release, even if it’s from a new vineyard, I feel like I’ve tasted it before.

Unpack rucksack, or backpack—wanted write the former as it just sounded better and more literary, more Kerouac at Sur.  Speaking of… my office, books…. Talking last night with a guy named Jack, owns Jack & Tony’s downtown, met a friend from leads group there to talk and exchange ideas as we occasionally do. Jack telling me that he has a literary group that meets there from time to time.  Need show, or meet who be in attendance. Not to market myself or sell anything.  Honestly not sure why… just need be around more writers.  And the mood comes back, realizing my age and where I want to be, what I want do, driving around that shitwagon Prius that I don’t even own.  Honesty… more honesty in these pages.  So…. Latte making me forward in more truth.  Much more.  The more that I need and for which I plead.

Where I go today… somewhere different.  Not Sonoma Valley, not RRV, not Dry Creek, Napa’s too far.  So…. I have nothing seen or–  SONOMA.  The town.  Still, somewhat far.  All this writing about what I should do, or the common what do I do mental ping-ponging back and forth like a deranged attention deficit, or excess focus, or both.  Just get out there and see the wine character, the vineyards, the IT to it all.

Walking out of here with nothing but keys, wallet, phone. Leaving journals here, laptop, and ‘pack in drawer.  Focus on wine… IN… what wine is, where it’s taking me possibly. How wine is the solver of everything, and not the sipped being. That’s just a thing, something here and then not.  I’m citing the community, the world around me in Sonoma County, Napa, Anderson, Carmel, Monterey, everywhere I’ve been … Santa Barbara.  Not that I always come back to wine, but the story of it, of her, reminds me that the presence never dissipates.  There’s always a beacon and beaming frame meant to contribute and precipitate pages.

So what now then with my wine writing…. Only write wine, I tell self.  Nearly write it in one of the journals I took from bag, but don’t.  It’s here, she’s here, I’m here, amalgamated and intersecting with purpose and fine fulfillment in this tech office.  I still laugh a little, I’ll be honest, and inwardly smile knowing this company hired a part-time professor from the wine world.  And I’m humbled, and shoved lovingly, poetically… everything in this metered consideration of my stage is like a swirling image that demands my connection and correctness, that my narrative progression be sent to and stricken by it, by her…. The radiant and quixotic puddle in a glass, but not sipping.  Rather, stopping, scribbling, where I was ten years ago in the tasting room at St. Francis surrounded by family and close friends, knowing what wine is, should be, how it should be written—SHE–not as some shard-borne blather that gets published in some glossy-facing scut-mag.  The story deserves a story, storytellers, essayists devoted to her, that only write on the steps in the stage, in the story, how they arrived, what’s seen….  Write what you like, but if you’re a penner of the pours, there should not be much or any prolonged interval.  Stay in wine, this tech office tells me.  Sell what you sell, here, as you do when you speak wine in a tasting room or on a walk in the vineyard, or….. ON A PAGE.

HERE.

The characters I cited earlier injecting me with a certain character curve or mood, tilt or slouch, sharpened heart, can’t mute or muffle me when with wined thought, when I’m in the vineyard, when thinking about wine and sipping with people I’ve never met, in the Roth Cave, or Lancaster’s, or last Saturday tasting wines with Jenn of Aperture Cellars.  Wine forwards in curiosity and meander, wandering paces and beats.  Writers that write wine attach to musical quality, qualities in what’s in the planted blocks, in the pours, not some score-pedal or recital.

11/23/19

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Finished an essay here in the office.

Will post in a minute.  Now just want to relax… think about where I’m having lunch.  Jesus… already 11:04, :05.  Morning passing me, so I shouldn’t stay too long here in Sonic office.  Still quite a bit of the latte left.  I’ll drink it on the way to Sonoma Valley.  Or should I go to Dry Creek?  Miss that drive.  But it is a drive.

                What sorts of wines do I want to taste today, honestly I have no idea. No target or preference, style or varietal in mind.  Want to go shopping—oh, forgot there’s an Old Navy right by home.  So now you know what my budget is.  Posting essay, Cru Track, then leaving.  Have to find something in wine, today. Something in her being and collective story…. Not for selling purposes or anything “marketing”, just exploring, LIFE… it’s all in the drive, the Road.  Wines I had last night, at Steele & Hops, not saying much to me, at all.  They were just wines.  Oh, but I only had one, that Cab, or no a blend.  That’s right.  And I’ve had that one before, grading papers or writing just before the 1A section meets at 7.

                Stopping, making self stop.  Off to use the new Composition book, fill it with NOTHING but sip-jots, vineyard musings and thoughts, wonderings and wanderings… just me and my wine story, which from this morning, coming here to the Sonic office to write, I know.  I know.  I know what I’m to do, to write, till I’m no more.

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One essay today. Honestly my only goal.

Well, not my only, but one of them.  Got rid of a yellow tablet, which I write often lecture notes and writing prompts for class.  Just the one journal now.  Do I run at lunch, or write.  I’ll decide later, of course.

Fourteen $1 bills in wallet.  Writing an essay about that, about them.  What about.  I don’t know, what do I do with them.  Start a business, start a something, something for me, some new operation.  This morning something in my writing self connected, and you talk about work and knowing Now, being freed by knowing Now from your work, demanding more than just passion.  A bizarrely elevated interest.  And in everything connecting, I write about the sights that don’t get an attention gallop.  My password written on a torn rectangular paper piece, to the right of the laptop.  I’ll even tell you what it is…. ‘Mousepenpaperme1!’ I’m sure our IT department, or any IT person would freak with me writing that on the blog, in this log, but I need something to write about. Why do I have the word Mouse as part of the code, the first word no less.  No idea. Think it has something to do with my daughter’s love of Minnie Mouse, calling her often ‘Mimi’.

Appt for 2pm just called to confirm.  What this AE position is teaching me is that you loudly and hungrily keep moving and whatever you see yourself doing for the rest of your life, start it NOW.  Not just planting seeds, but doing IT.  Only thing on my desk, numbers to call, potential appointments to set.  People, most people I know actually, look down on calling and cold-calling.  I think it’s fun, amusing, a writing prompt all to itself.

Maybe the essay isn’t my only goal.  Surprise myself with these calls, that I’m to start in 11 minutes.  Is my running gear here?  Yes. Shorts and new shirt.  Shoes?  Yes.

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And Office, Me, and Coffee. Lots.

11/20/19

In office earlier than usual.  8:03 now and I believe I clocked in at 7:57, or 8.  Somewhere around there.  Windy, not sure they’ll cancel class tonight.  Is it bad that I hope they do?  Well, either way, I do.  Noting on ways to make this AE thing go quicker, have more influx of inquiries, and more meetings, and of course more fucking sales.  Today I’m all about whim, just moving and not thinking.  Not drafting too carefully what I write, just something like “Wanted to talk to you about some better speeds and functionality for your internet…” But the word functionality sounds too pitchy.  Way too pitchy, actually.  I’m in sales, but more and more I hate selling.  I like having lunch, like the director one time said in a meeting with a vendor, or perspective client.  I need to get out of the office more, I know.  So….. today I’ll be in Berkeley, on way back can hit S. McDowell, and maybe an address on Piner Road.  “Planting seeds”, as some say.  That too sounds a little, I don’t know, hokey.  (Did I spell that right?)

Into second pass at 100 days.  Own office, when it’s over.  Wrote that today I’m writing a book, or intending on showing others how to prospect.  So how do you… what is prospecting…..  As I see it, saying hi, talking to people.  Looking at a google maps file, helping with direction and where I hit.

Just heard someone in the Dispatch section say “Something is better than nothing.” With prospecting, I completely agree.  My head is in a prospecting frame and mode, Road and Go.  Garnished with whim and a bit of a humor tilt or lean.  Just got an email from a prospect I thought was a sure-thing, but no.  Let it go, keep talking.  Keep finding conversations.  Call down the lead lists in Salesforce, no matter how shitty they are.

8:49.  Going to start my calls at 9.  Go for run a bit after 10, head out to Berkeley or wherever a little after 12 I’m thinking.  Even if I find people that already have our services, who cares.  Let them know we have some new offerings, get referrals.  Conversation, conversation…. That’s what will elevate the progression of things.  Prospecting doesn’t have to be prospecting.  In fact, I hate that fucking word.  Maybe there doesn’t need be a singular word for it.  If I’m to teach how to prospect and how to ‘AE’, eventually here at Sonic, then I first advise, THINK LESS.  Go out and meet people, say hi.

Event tomorrow ….  Carry cards, just talk.  Everyone is an AE, I’m seeing.  And prospecting should be the most enjoyable parcel of the position.  May be idealism, but make it fun. If you’re not having a good time, that’s on you.

Just set an appointment.  Working on another.

Will be getting ready for run here, in a minute.  Where am I going….  Thinking same route.  Glad that cold left me, or didn’t take hold. Wouldn’t say I had an OFFICIAL cold.  Why am I talking about this… boring.  Go run.

11/21/19

3:44.  Day nearly over.  Tired, not sleeping well last night with little Emma sick.  Not in the mood to write, right now.  Or teach, frankly.  But, I’m going to do it.  Last night lecturing on narrative has me more singularized in several regards and composition ponds.  My first time to write, right now.  Not leaving right at 4, much as I want to.  Going to gift myself this time to write, write in a tech office, as a wine writer of literature, nonfiction.  The meeting I just had solely on tech, confirming my shift into a new character.  Looking at everything as a Sales Engineer, even though I’m an AE.

More awake now.  And yes ‘cause I’m having another cup of coffee.  Did I tell you that?  Quickly reading the above paragraph, and I don’t think so.  I’ll be really honest.  And I mean really fucking honest….  Going to rush grade the 1A stack.  Get it out of my life. And be done.  And going to be generous with my marks, which won’t do much damage or compromise as I’m weighing attendance and actual mental activity and presence over traditional shit, the orthodoxy of institution.  Tangent I know, but I’m thinking about my travels at the end or just before the fin of this 100 days pass.  Tonight, like a beta of that.  And the meta will most assuredly be magic in its own bell.  Music, in everything.

One essay before class.  Short.  And read to class.  The honesty will surprise them I’m hoping, or at least shove them to react, or do something.  I’m going in and out of caffeine effect.  Coffee telling me to just write, take a break, “You haven’t really broke today Mikey, so do it in a sentence or 20-something.” That what I hear it, HER, saying.  And wine… get a glass of wine.  Always grade to wine, Mike.  But where can I do that?  All the papers are in a fucking shoe box.  Yes.  A shoebox.  Would that be weird?  Professor walks into a bar…. With a shoebox.

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Too cranky and lazy

to open the laptop, so I’m typing on my phone. Thumbing. This isn’t fucking writing. I don’t even know if it’s thumbing. No TV. Tuesday through Thursday, the trench as I call it this semester, I’m not a fan of human voices. Don’t even think my own. Or anyone I admire… what if I had the power to make talking around me not possible Tuesday through Thursday. Or, I just couldn’t hear them. Or, I vanish to some Stranger Things dimension but without those ugly fucking monsters. And sun, there has to be sun. And a lake, a writer’s cabin by the shore, it’s always a warm agreeable spring, and wine. Like this SB I’m sipping on the floor, legs out and crossed. No voices. Not even my own. I can’t talk. Just write. I’m selfish I know, but it’s because I’m a writer, and a teacher. “Teacher”. I think I teach. Too moody and sluggish, heavy and not-poised to think further of it. Yes, I would have so much of this Aperture Sauvignon Blanc that I would speak its language and only hear her. What is she telling me to do now, right now, with tonight, this floor… Nothing. Enjoy your lazy, laugh from your mood, and don’t mind other voices or anything. You’re allowed time to YOU.

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At a loss as what to do now.  Made calls, secured some appointments, and looking at clock.  Sipping last cup of coffee.  Grade some papers after this, and where should one do that. One thought is campus, but I’m not in the mood to just rush over there.  Possibly going to a writing spot, somewhere.  Which one.  Feel so much better than I did yesterday.  Tomorrow will be one full of appointments, running early then driving to prospect shortly after that, then to Berkeley to secure an account.

Will work on letters to send prospects, between now till day’s close.  Going to pull back on calling for a bit, unless it’s a response to an email.  Want to accomplish all, and I will, through writing in this AE story.  Need to get here early, tomorrow, if I can.  And remember my badge.  Forgot it today, shamefully.  Where did I leave it… oh shit, on the white cabinet, with the wine glasses.  A bit of irony, I think that’s irony, not having wine last night.

Grading next semester will be incredibly different than this term, if I’m still teaching.  I wrote more when I had the Apple laptop.  Now, I’m typing on these low-quality, not really for writers laptops.  My opinion.  And I need to write quicker, more, and with less thought. Is it dark outside?  Haven’t been out in a bit.  So it could be dark and I wouldn’t know.  I truly feel like it could be dark outside.

Grading takes from writing, I know that now, and have, but not thinking of everything I need grade I cringe.  Write about wine… oh fuck here we go again.  Have some to sip when home tonight, and whatever I grade with.  Don’t they have a Grenache at Whole Foods?  Yeah, they do.  And I remember it being sharp, and loving, jazzy and playful on senses and one that would encourage me to write.  Now, just talking about it, I’m looking forward to grading.  Writing some wise-ass remarks or something cryptic and encouraging in the margins…. Satirizing the institution, while forwarding their efforts in their studies.

Always coming back to wine, always.  And why is that, why did I go to a winery and taste, take notes, and be in wine worker mode on a day off?  “Day off”.  Obviously in quotes since I don’t believe in days “off”.  Wine, the reason and reasoning, where I reason myself and sense of self to be as a writer.  Old pictures in WordPress memory, past, and most of it wine.  From my Roth Winery days and before.  Writing about wine and her colors and bright intrigue and confusing qualities, not meaning to propel and confusing crux but shove you with love to interpret and understand that it’s not the thing in the glass but the reaction and interaction.

Office quiet, and my letters to prospective clients take shape, like I’m writing about wine.  But not at all.  About happiness and no stress, what all business owners want when it comes to their office’s tech.

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11/19/19

Notes as the day goes:

Training to begin in a few, waiting on another attendee.

Training for later cancelled, someone out sick.  Me, feeling alive and fiery and flexible today.  May go for a run, today.  MAY… or, write.  Or do I go somewhere and write.  Going to bed as early as I did last night and going home early to nap is absolutely the connector to the Mike Madigan in the office today.  Third coffee of day, and my way…. A new way.  Eager to show how much I’ve learned in this training, and much I don’t need it but appreciate it as a refreshing seminar or brief.  I can see myself getting dismissed, being told I don’t need it.  And I know I don’t, but still eager for it as review, invitation for ideas exchange.

Where do I …..  Going now.  To training.

Rather than resisting being shoved out of the office, maybe I should be encouraged by it.

Day 9 in Second 100 Pass.  Just let the story carry you.  Don’t try to control, don’t try to hold or steer…. Let the gusts lovingly shove your sails.

11:47.  Training done, and how much I have learned in this AE dimension was wildly and kinetically confirmed.  Lunch in a few, bringing Strong Words pages with me.  Chinese, my solution and resolution.  Not feeling run-ready, not yet.  Luckily my immune system is what it is, and the cold or whatever was yesterday advancing is already scurrying aware scared of my strength.

Thinking products, product focus, after the training on legacy products here at Sonic.  Wondering what my legacy products and services are.  Something to storm over, over lunch.

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11/18/19

Notes as the day goes:

More coffee. Shit, should I?

Need to take more notes.

Haven’t sold shit yet today.  Let’s change that.  Yeah, like it’s that fucking easy.  Wait, make it that easy.  WRITE, it that easy.

Lunch.  Forgot I packed the rest of the kids’ quesadilla, and my burrito, but it doesn’t sound, I don’t know…..

Will stop by 24hour Fitness on way home, cancel membership.  Seriously looking into the coLAB on Mendo….  Meeting other creatives and AE’s, business people, bloggers, everything…. Hmmmmmm…….

Clocking out.  Thinking too much.

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