Leaving office in a bit. Feeling self getting stronger in the AE character. Everything from contract progression to speak of the services and everything we offer, as well as the day-to-day movement of someone in this character. More than building a “funnel”, or prospecting, or even selling, but new and decided acknowledgement and study of your abilities. Ones you didn’t know were there. Ones that surprise you irreversibly the second you discover them. I’ll write it here, again, this is all writing. It’s all narrative, the excavation of your own psychology in your work. What you do, and having it be more than just ‘what you do’. Who you are, the composition of your Now. Could be said that this has been one of the more educating weeks or my life.
Brainstorming new writing routine… points every day to hit:
Write in newest journal, any length, could be as short as a sentence, or even singular word
1 blog post to bottledaux blog
If I think of anything else to add to list, if you know me, you know I wil.
Earliest in a time so long I can’t even begin to remember, recount.
Tomorrow, changing the story’s directions and projections.
time to organize and collect, reflect and creatively project.
Looking back at the writer.
Rain in SF.
5:35. Not 4 but still early. Last 4 days off. Will have to adjust or at the least, very least, pace self and connect to day. Meeting 2 with class, finally. Not sure how I’m going to get in 3000 words today but I’ll fit what I can into the day’s composition. Tempted to close eyes for a bit but won’t. Daddy mode nears… the struggle with both wee beats to be dressed and with teeth brushed. Nothing extraordinary. Same thing every parents goes through in the A.M. to some degree. Can hear them moving in their beds. Not moving, me. Need the meditation, the quiet. Sitting in dark and putting letters in some kind of order for day’s order has sight and thought everywhere. What to do with the day and where I’ll be in 12 hours. In classroom readying for class. Then after class. Go to bed early and hopefully wake to run or workout.
Mike sits in the room, the home office. No lights. Dark. Thinking. The day, what he has to do, first thing to do when in office’s do. How does time see him, how is he using the time he has right now, now…. what is he choosing to do and why that. This tells him something, again, again. He needs to do more. But what— Never mind that. Today everything would be for the classroom. What he’d teach. He’d be a teacher that’d be more than a simple community college teacher. He’d be something else. Him, but just in a classroom. He’d be in sync with the course outline or whatever, but only so much as he wanted. He wanted more, needed more, wanted and wanted more from his days. Anything that resembled a pattern or some repeated motion or obligation, some to-do he saw as poison. A toxin that would eat him whole and not even spit him out or digest him.
Pinot is there to ease me, sing and educate, provoke meditation and new sight, exploration of prior hours. She instructs the writer to not work as hard, not feel so obligated to fill a page. See the room you’re in, she says. Walls sing alongside her and the floral scape of her animated way.