There is no happenstance in patterns.
In YOUR patterns.
As someone who obsesses over work,
and what work he has to do, what I have planned the next day and the remaining hours of this day, I am honestly with nothing. But I make myself write. One student tonight saying one of her goals is, was, is to wake at 2am to get ahead in her studies and I assume write a little as she does write poetry and write in short lines, short stanzas, pieces that span only a page. And I say ‘only’ out of awe, that she does so much to a page in only a page’s pulse.
Was nearly too lazy to write anything tonight. Told self, “Just a hundred words, per blog.” But I can’t hold self to that. Should I do what this student plans on doing? Should I set alarm for 2? Isn’t that the time of the artist, the writer and poet? Didn’t I read that somewhere? On my lunch today grading papers and writing in the Sonic journal as this goddamn laptop didn’t want to let me use it. Of course, now, I do push the buttons and have a note in my writing normalcy.
Finish the fucking book, I tell myself. Like my son said tonight as I poised to make his bed with new sheets, “GET TO WORK.” I am. I say the same to self.
Sip the Barbera I popped last night. It, she, more calm. Me the opposite of anything tranquil at the moment. Working in the home office which isn’t as common as I’d love to tell you it is. But, WORK. Work. What I write about. Force self to write when I don’t want to. I do write about wine, but that’s not my only onus and thought light.
Now, I’m like a train with this, these writing thoughts. I, not failed. Not failing in my aims. I won’t allow that. No one should. Why would you. You are here, once. And I’m not addressing the fact one only lives once…. I’m speaking to myself and you, that where you are, right now, the opportunity and life invitation to bring a project to completion is singular. You see it once.
You are a train, if you wish be. Some unknown animal of fruition, bringing works to an offering stage. There are only stops that persist acknowledged. So acknowledge none of them. I see so many of these speakers and motivational-who-be’s profess all this counsel but don’t consider the most apparent reality… the audience member has to decide. They only elect to act if they bring themselves to movement. Tonight I could have just as easily poured this red from El Dorado, sat on the floor of this home study, went on phone and scrolled through some photo pour. No. We decide to draw, paint new plausible for our Personhood. Decide to move, be alive, mentally, alive, wildly alive in all movements of your steps and actuating saunter.
What work does for and to the character is animated in divinely lucrative chant. Dodge the task, never. Distractions and suitable sanctions to project-dodge are terminal. The panacea, always, is preemptive production. Never, labor deduction.
10/15/18
I never thought a tech company would make me more a writer. Make me love going to work so amiably and loudly. Make me so vocal and ravenous with new project production, make me more a figure for personal branding, and branding, marketing creatively, more of ME and who I’ve always thought I was. The work I do at the tech office is dimension and shape-shifting in a way I’ve never known or seen thought I’d be a part of. I’m creatively present, a wild wine writer more so than I was prior. “vino tech lit” I have written on a post-it at my desk, on those cubicle-esque walls. But I’m in no cube. No box like that Napa wine-pedaling office. No, this is a the flavorful contrast dreamt before. And now here.
Yesterday in street with one of the sales leads talking about destiny and where we are, what we do, and if something happened in way of some fortune found us, what we’d do. We both expressed dreams and of course acquiring something we’ve always wanted be that go back to school and earn multiple doctorates or buy property somewhere, or just rent forever and travel, or something else.
Now on my only day off between both work weeks I compose self and compose here, writing freely thinking about starting a wine business of some kind. Like what? I don’t know. This is the coffee talking. Definitely the medium roast acting as my medium and meaning for me to finally finish a book. Not just post tirelessly on this blog. Travel… sipping something in my hotel room night before a talk on writing or writing about wine, business… something. Just writing and see what happens. More free than simply freewriting. And why does this goddamn laptop want to make that two words, free and writing. It’s one. One unified and assembled effort and concert. Every day very much part of my musical character.
Coffee cold and not that interesting anymore. Usually don’t mind cold coffee. After all nearly every night I make coffee and put the pint or mug in fridge as to have iced coffee in morning if I’m planning on writing early, which I always aim to do but rarely actualize. Tomorrow, a run. 8 miles or maybe just see what I can do in an hour on the tread. I don’t know. I don’t know how to gain the most from this time to self. Wife putting on hero coat and taking our two excessively energetic mini-beats.
Travel… Greece, Spain, France, Russia. Write everywhere, run everywhere. Changing habits, intensifying and diversifying certain facets to my story and character modes. Dishwasher steaming, already done. Haven’t done any of the chores vowed accomplished by time wife and Emma and little Kerouac return. Papers to grade as well. Don’t want to think about. Wont let self. Rather just listen to music. Hear the notes. For all of us. You, reader… this author. WE, not merely the ‘I’. Writing for both of us. Thought this before, but not too much practice and maintenance of such habit. That can change realizing in this sitting.
Never wrote so much. And at a tech company, which seeing now is more a creative firm, a sizable thank tank or education and philosophy colony. Partner in office showing me the proverbial possibilities of where we are, what we do, what the office’s circulation and respiration relay and rile, realize. And now, just before 40. What can anyone do but embrace what they have, use it, kinetically utilize each scenic ingredients. Taking pause, meditative stall justified in this kitchen, smelling steam from done dishes.
Work more than about the ‘I’ of anything. More then inclusive, the aggregate, community and composition. Story singing, then immediate reaction from one writing this, this writer seeing more in his surroundings and “job” which is anything but. A life, a story new, making him more a writer and more a wine seer and verse molder than his months before. His last day in wine’s industry and on some ineffective business model’s clock, 8/23. Nearly 60 days out. Seeing more. Understanding. People working around him, teaching, making more routes possible in multitudes never before forecasted.
Needing to return to me, I wonder what brought me here. IS it wine’s laughable conception and abetting of professionalism and you being able to have any type of career there, or is it me understanding who I am. Finally. I don’t know. I have to focus on me, the I of it all for just a minute. Here in kitchen with wife and babies gone, and coffee colder than I want it to be and about to switch to sparkling water, counting down days and weeks till semester is done. Setting aside two hours tonight, returning to papers and more of me in this final semester.
My business, my story, the story inclusive, everything eclipsing the other with love and adoration of what the other province does. The other night at dinner with wife, tasting two new wines, drawing in head what my eventual wine business will look like, what the room will say, narrate. This new assignment at the tech company which is anything but just a “tech company”, throws my thinking into new throws and destinations, more honed to road that reaching any destination.
Seeing my eventual office, somewhere here in Sonoma County. Not having left the tech company, but achieving something there which will deliver my own office, somewhere where I can work and there is no toys or other kid articles around my operating space. Want it in Healdsburg like the one artist studio next to Duke’s, his or her entire work space on display. Not sure I want to be that accessible, but something like that. What me and that co-worker yesterday spoke to each other in Berkeley, telling me new possibilities. Thought of them the whole drive back to the office. And now here. Where else, to?
10/14/18
Sonic Jot
Next day, the second where I feel like I’m on a rocket ship, just ascending and appreciating altitude. Third day of victory, of production, producing, feeling my life and creative tide just going and rising and taking me with it. On lunch now, peanuts and a ginger ale I bought from shop. Stomach still a bit uneasy from that vegetarian burrito, yesterday. Work today is more than enlivening and exhilarating. I did feel this a couple times in the wine industry, but with no consistency. Can’t remember the last time at Roth I had three consecutive days of pure life and topic ownership. My story becomes its own storm, now. Its own Now. In this large warehouse-like quarter with Sonic everything all around me and everything that Sonic embodies, from the communicative facet to people just visibly enjoying what they do. I’m definitely space-bound. My work is no longer work but something that’s redefined and redrawn and re-purposed my literary purpose.
Walking someone through the office and into this break arena earlier, I could see the amazement and disbelief in her facial shape. How the company encourages its people, how the “employees” are more so investors and partners, family members to the immediate and distant motions. All motions overlap and intermingle, creating a creative concurrency. Their own currency to be exchanged and interchanged… I notice my own face change shape, sitting here. Taking another sip, not needing any real lunch but just the snack I have and everything on either side— left and right, 12 and 6. All these corners and visuals decide on magnifying my manuscript’s physiology, writing new one for this writer who anymore writes about work as he’s embedded and invested in work that binds to his moral and ethic etch.
I’m horribly saddened, honestly, when I hear of people going to places they hate for work. Of course someone could ask, “Why would anyone do that to themselves?” Yes, an easy question to ask, but not so easy to answer or attach any formula. It’s not that they do anything to themselves, but haven’t found their pages, haven’t landed in their story. What I recognize, appreciate and further analyze in my sitting here is that only now do I see. Did I find not only a home, but a topic. A book, and another one. Me, a writer, literary guy, beatnik from the wine industry, now more fiery and eager and moved to words. AT A TECH COMPANY. But this isn’t some simple tech company, or start-up or wanna-be startup village. This, here, the creative is basal, inherent. Expected. Sonic, like a university hopping around in exponent climates. Here, you’ll hear people say how they write everything down. You see other writers here, other thinkers, people seeking to enjoy where they work— More than just “enjoy” it. Live it. Be it. The IT, to it all. What they do, yes, but more who they are. That’ how I see myself.
My story just arrived. At 39. Late? No. Lovely timing. If anything, it’s more than punctual and optimal, just before 40. This place has me forgetting I’m 39, if you should know, and you should know if I’m with your attention. I just fixate on the day, whatever project to which I tend. The company’s name, Sonic, denoting and connoting sound, and speed, something audible, and then I think of course of music and being a literary bloke hear Kerouac reminding me that the only truth is music. Here, in the break room and in the office proper, between enclaves and hamlets of encouragingly and electric and eclectically adorned cubes and desk, you hear it. See, feel, then a sixth and eighth sense. Someone you acknowledge or you think you do adequately but only know you’re there, in it all.
New writer, new vision. New understanding and embrace of purpose. I am writing a book, about this place. More than a place but a dimension, a warp of time, timing. Forgot about the ginger ale, peanuts. Hearing co-workers talk of their projects and ideas while on lunch. They don’t talk about any TV show, who’s dating who, where they’re going this weekend. But work. WORK. It’s not work. It’s more than passion. It’s creative escalation and an impassioned saddle of axioms and projects. Seeing each day as its own book, not just a chapter. This is not a new chapter in my life but a new life, a new armada of books I’m about to write. This day— what would it be about? Learning, something new. Spreadsheet. Yes, me doing spreadsheets. I was deathly afraid of them, before coming here, and up until yesterday still quite unnerved at the thought of toying with rows, columns, cells, formulae. No longer, though. My self-certain, assurance and general fortitude eclipse any anxiety. Moving at a speed I’d deem supersonic, frankly. And I don’t see myself working, I don’t. I see the growth and the metaphysical and ontological model re-write itself over and over, from this company’s thesis. New song, everyday. New chords. New opus offerings and new interpretations of everything around me. And, again, spreadsheets are part of this paragraph, part of this elasticized praise for where I now sit, in this lunching province.
Stomach, solved. Today did so. Cured me of whatever that restaurants plate did. And I forget it, universally. I’m made more healthy and assembled as a writer in tech’s clef and step. Anything past workplaces instilled, left, far in days behind me. Today’s book, then tomorrow’s, where I’ll be at Month 6, and yes I have a specific aim and tangible destination for such. Never did that with wine’s world. I didn’t need to, as no such thought was ever invited or encouraged. The culture of not only writing and taking notes here, but education both from self but colleagues makes me feel like I’ve discovered some cryptozoological wonder, asking myself What is THIS? and Where am I? Imagine that, being not merely in love with where you are, what you do, where one works, but seeing yourself as healthier, happier, more composed as an immediate consequence.
10/3/18
9/14/18
Wine when home. Day in field. Cognitive throws clearing their way to my vision, my understanding and general concept and estimation of everything around me. This Sophia’s Cuvée, Lancaster, 2015 I think has my thinking with not a single chain pain. I’m on the floor of the lowest floor of the Autumn Walk Studio, going over conversations with T in car and at lunch, about wine and business, business… everything now I see as invitation and opportunity, a catalyst for amplification. And I know I keep repaying that word or some form pro phylum thereof and, or, in. But this is where the writer is, presently. In business bliss and thought tryst. Made coffee for morrow, waking at 04:00 with no diffuse. My life on it much depends and hopefully soon eventually ascends. I feel and see it, for my babies and family and all those around me. Sonic’s altered favorably, and with etching speed, my scope on work, on business and workplace forwards.
This Cab-honed set of sense tells me to take the night’s remainder off after this entry. She understands I’m a writer, that I have something to maybe say, no delay, positive stray and fray in lyric-laden say. Part of me didn’t want to leave SF, feeling like a Beatnik in my hometown, where I belong, where I only wanted to read poetry on street corners and in cafés, where T and I had lunch, but I studied. Know, I know more now. The wine professes to show only what mysteries and enigmas need be shows and set before in present’s block, lot.
Letting wine “open” in stemless plastic bowl on table. Little Beats and wife upstairs done for day, away to dream plains and me just here being to be, in a state or irrevocable poetic pulse and session, sitting. Tomorrow in office, learning more, feeding knowledge addiction, prophetic affliction. Nothing thinking and just writing, must, my own trust and philosophy bus. See self paling now on floor in typed stream and surf but only from long day. I don’t aim for any attention as some do, as I sometimes do, right now I’m just a candid compositional bandit, only unhurt for attention and potential ideas bartered, commuted. Something like such. The house quiet, wine opened and more expository, telling me to keep writing and stop with any distracting dote, even if it’s to find some synonym. That’s not genuine, that’s in no way truth. Polishing your prose is the same as excess oak or using some additive or “add” to make the wine more ‘something’. Got it, I say back to the red in cup. And about my night go.
Still feel that fog on face, smell the sidewalk of 30-something and Balboa, Anza, Clement. SF has not just my heart and mind but functionally and make and a situational duality, dueling with any nay-say and self-doubt, and moment-to-moment hell cloud. So now, ending day, night, readying for next day. 4am, challenging anyone who thinks they work “harder” or with more cored and ordered force than THIS writer.
Business. Building one.
What I’m thinking about now, finishing my last little snack. Need something salty, or something. Not sure. Shit, I’m getting indecisive again. Not falling into anymore indecision. Can’t with business, writing about building one, seeing self as one. The forward motion has to be the principle motion. Okay… caved and bought some cheese and crackers from shop here in this multi-purpose/lunch/presentation/meeting room/arcade. Honestly, this room is unusually impressive to me, and what it contributes to the business and those support it, making everything happen. I look around and see no one unhappy, no one scowling. Two guys behind and to the right of me play a game of pingpong, not one of them speaking to the other completely trapped and rapt in their furious and precise back and forth. Me, my thinking this morning, now, on my lunch where I choose to write about this new job and wha tI see it doing for me. What I learned before coming in here, about overthought and what it did to me, my writing, yesterday. How I declared no such occurrence would speak today. Not even slightly.
26 minutes left in my literary lunch or sorts. A literary character, with a profuse vino penchant, in a tech company. An ISP. There’s something there, and more promising and utterly unlike my blend of vino and lit in wine’s place. But what. WHAT. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Let it land, I tell myself. Don’t rush it. Presenting these ideas after lunch to another manager, of marketing and sales, has me wanting to know what it is. This, ideas, MY business. Educating people and showing people, the showing itself, the act, persisting as the educating vehicle.
I’ll walk back into the office as a new character in business, how to grow one. The idea… right there.. goddamnit, I say to myself, SAY IT! I’m traveling now between business ideas, potentials and capacities, little poems and blurbs, all short, in my head and I agree with self that if they stay then they see a page. This office motivates me, continuously, and I find new forms and areas in my creative soul. Not sure how else to describe it, describe this wine writing identity in the tech world. In an office and no longer at a vineyard. Strangely, I’m relieved to not walk the vineyard everyday. That I didn’t expect. That, this office taught me.
More notes, the writer takes more notes. On the guitar character, on the wine he opened two nights ago and finished last night, and class tonight. Likely I’ll let them go early as I did the ‘100’ section last night, share some ideas, and then go. Needing a night off, and want to see the babies. More important than any business venture or effort, attempt. They grow quicker than I want them to. Time continues to demonstrate indifference with how I see my children grow, age, mature, get more mouthy with me and engage me in debate. I’m encouraged, discouraged, more in love, then sad. See Jack and in business at some point, together, Emma too I just think of Jack first as I’ve always seen him as my little buddy, partner in crime, that kind of thing.
9/13/18
Lunchtime, dry cereal, no regrets. And no overthought. Not one drop of it. Fine with my election to come here and snack and note, notes on business and business development. Will be pitching some ideas to T after this 50-something minute break in day. Have them written and cued in other journal, the Sonic journal I left at desk. Realizing excess is never healthy, especially with goals and thought associated with goals. This means planning. My whole #professormikey brand, thinking about what I should do with it and how, and how I should have it “tagged” and categorized, marketed, whatever. No more thinking, just doing. Writing, education, self-education in all of this. Who and the why of all this writing. The story I started yesterday at the restaurant while waiting for a meek takeout order, sipping a Racer 5, about man who finds his guitar in closet, or not so much finds it but takes it out for the first time in a while and starts playing, just playing and fiddling with sounds. No thought, no real objective in mind other than the sounds themselves, he and that guitar. See such right here, now, me at Sonic and having left the wine industry, new projects, new order, new self-orders and directions. No more wishing. None.
This dry cereal is really satisfying, I’m actually surprised. A bit sweet, so I’m not all that happy I’m giving it to little Kerouac and Ms. Austen, but I learn. And now. I eat, enjoy, relax, rite, think of the meeting by telling self don’t think about anything. Just act, actuate, fly away into the action of it all. It’s all the guy and the guitar, teaching himself to play, to sing to his own chords and rhythms, everything from me typing between fingertip grabs of these little squares to notes in the Burgundy Journal, to building business and more Self for myself. Talking to a co-worker yesterday driving down to Berkeley and driving around campus, between each bite from this cereal bag. I’m educating myself in this new business, in tech, the internet, how to sell it, how to speak it, how to speak me… and that’s all this really is, ME. If you’re in a new job, and you’re feeling anything from nervousness to angsty, to some soul-stall, or just straight anxiety, think of you. This is my self-advise, as yesterday I did feel a bit of uneasiness when back in office. Not sure I can describe it, but I did. But it was soon death’d by my assurance of self. This is me. I can sell me. And if not sell then certainly speak. Not so. Much seeing something in my story, but making there be a mood in my story. Something elevating, encouraging, assuring. Growth. So pleased I didn’t get in my car and have to drive out of the business park and up Sebastopol then park in La Texanita’s lot. All that time would have been killed. Then waiting for my plate, and not being able to type. Here I am, and where I need be, certainly. My business revolves around work itself, learning, from choosing to be here in the lunchroom to packing dry cereal for self. MY work, this, and Sonic, chasing my sight and feel of my life, what I’m doing— where I am and why.
Noting everything I learn in the tech scene,
world, language, behavior pattern and way. I’m one with a little reluctance, but I’m using what I know how to do well, and from there amplify. Guess that’s my new tone and talk, ‘amplify’, and amplification. Think it’s safe to say I won’t learn how to code any time soon, nor design sights, install internet. I speak, I write, I guess I sometimes entertain, I speak (already said that, sorry), and story-tell. That’s what I do, what I know how to do. 13 minutes left in break and my eyes are still on that coffee drink. But I’d have to use my debit card. Don’t want to do that. Just make yourself another cup of coffee and let it cool off, I say to self. People play video games off to right, and again I take the energy here much more with a welcome write than how I felt at the winery in final days at Roth. And I hate to say that and keep mentioning that in these entries because I love wine, I love even the industry, or at least what I knew the industry to be before I was devoured by it. I swear, if I would’ve stayed…. I don’t want to think about it. Wouldn’t have been healthy, or beneficial to me, and certainly not the writing.
I’m eager to speak to this new hire, and see what the girl I’m working very closely with to a blessing’s believability, T, says. Questions, educating, me being educated while I’m more or less educating from the less than 12 full days of life here. I’m going to teach from what I know.. sales, speaking, not just relating to customers but listening, seeing what they need and providing a certain narrative and depiction of what Sonic is. Not sure why I call it “office new”, still. Habit, or just being a funny, quirky, language tussling and fiddling pen bloke. I don’t know.
Less than five minutes and I just made my coffee so I’m prep’d for the remaining hours in my day, here in tech’s step. I shouldn’t say that, I think. This office is much more than just a tech spot, place of business. I see Sonic as a consumer advocacy group as I said to T a few days ago and earlier today, I think. I’m learning how to do not just better business but more coherent business. More creative, more life, more education… I don’t know where to start sometimes when it comes to this new office. Sonic.. and me, the Lit and writing prof’, put into a new book and new storytelling assemble and vocal. Doing wha tI can in the breaths last, make them last, looking around the break room and feeding from everything from the video game sounds to the conversations right I listen to but don’t at all. New job, new words and walls, chairs and tables, coffee and doors. Everything a propellent, ascending action and atmosphere from one character to ‘nother. The observations and written reactions and reflections, MY business.
Day 11 –
Sat down in break room/arcade/snack shop, immediately started writing. Told self I’d grade papers on break, but not after the busy morning I’ve had. I very much deserve this meditation, this collection in words, with my paragraphs paired with leftover pizza and sparkling water wife me bought at Costco, yesterday? No. Saturday. Anyway, I think of business. This business that I’m now in, melding customer service and PR with hospitality and sales, tech, language, storytelling, everything that I am as a … everything that I am. Truly. This morning’s meetings with T showed me what I already knew but punctuated what I need more pay attention to.
I’m learning still, at my old age. Learning to learn, learning to write, write everything down, make the moment and everything in it especially at a new job my own. New knowledge, in every step and turn. No exaggeration. I can’t get anywhere close to enough, here. Of everything. From the product I represent, to the services… how do I make this my own, I think. The same way I did, and still do but on my own terms with wine. Words. Speaking. Performing to a lesser emphasis. Here. Present. My story and in my business, my business in this business, learning about the internet and why Net Neutrality is important, how I as a consumer of information is impacted. I’m learning, and that’s my fix, that’s my addiction and story.
I still have a semester to get through, and I have to get creative tonight if I’m to grade what I have to, what remains. What I had more than enough time to get to over the weekend but decided to instead write as I now do. I should be eating this pizza, taking down this sparkling water, but I collect and mediate, recover on page. Not that there’s anything to recover from. This place, this company, everyone around me in this break room put me in a cumulonimbus composition of passion and creative… how to approach prospective buyers and how to approach the office every morning. Writing down plans and goals for each day. Yes, I’m doing so each day, and assessing the writer’s progress. What I’m doing, how I grow, what I know and what I learn, how I grow from what I already know and the shapes and sequences newly-learned. Feel like my story is only NOW truly starting… that the great consolidation of things and vignettes in my greater story only now’s noted. Finally. I shouldn’t say that, though. I know.
Hunger catching me, I take a bit of the cheese pizza that I bought for the kids. My babies, missing them this morning and driving here I thought of them and felt my soul sink, that I needed more time with them over the weekend. But how could I have had more? There were things scheduled, scenes already set. Plainly, and I write this all the time, I need to wake earlier. Last night didn’t sleep all that well, so ce soir I’m going to those sheets and pillows unusually early as I told wife. See if I do it, and if I do hopefully it’ll trigger an early wake. If I make a project of 4am, who knows what it’ll do. I’m certain contribute to what I do here at the office new, this tech gem that found my story with a quickness and timeliness that very well could have saved my life, I see. In many ways. Not just hyperbole. I’m vocally convinced it did.
Have my eye on one of those canned coffee drinks in the shop’s fridge. Not sure why I’m stuck on that at the moment, but I am. I love the surroundings, here. Do I miss the walks around the crush pad, in the tank rooms, in the cave? Yes, I guess, but even those started to get old. They were just the same, replicated in each curve and angle, scent from barrels and tanks, cave rooms and tables. Even my day yesterday in friend’s tasting room annoyed me, a bit. People coming to taste wine but not really understanding them so they didn’t buy, or did but only a bottle here and there. Thinking the next time I’m in a tasting room will be when I have my own. My own flight, offerings, when I’m pouring the wines I and/or my sister’s made. Wine… still in head, don’t be confused. The industry though, as I’ve so many times in days recent said, put on the pages of this blog, is no more in my manuscript. No more counting register, drying glasses, making those infernally pestering cheese plates. No more. Sipping what remained of that Pinot last night, and not much mind you, I thought of how just a moth ago, August 10th, I was in that room. Behind the bar. Pouring for people, giving tours, walking ‘round the crush pad and strolling with a joke or two cued into the lab to greet my buddy Chris… an act I do very much miss, as I loved the wine and winemaking discussions with mon ami, Mr. Chris… talking to the winemaker and asking him about growth in the vineyard. Just under a month ago. Time, here, flying faster than anywhere else. More than enjoying myself, more than growth, but lesson that I need capture everything. Note everything, and I do as there’s a lot to this new job of mine. Field Sales Supervisor, a title which sounds rather industrial and clinical, boring and emotionless. But its not, and certainly not how I’ll make it my own.
My pep, a strain to contain, hold or quarantine. I’m learning too much, and not just about tech and the internet, client and customer relations, but about BUSINESS. Am I a business blogger, now? My knowledge need speaks from this new business I’m in. I didn’t have this on property, certainly not behind that bar pouring down a tasting flight. Meeting another fellow new hire after this lunch/typing session. I know what I’m to say, then don’t. I’ll learn from that, as well. This is all learning. My business in this business, in this office, new, is learning, helping others learn.
9/10/18