Playing at the park up and then down the street, down a little hill,

I’m definitively into my zen tilt and happiness takeover and project.  Sipping Rose in a plastic cup I found in Mike’s cupboard I think about wine and what I want with it.  Again.  Kids unaffected by this, this evacuation.  To them it’s a getaway, a vacation, something that has no flames, or threats, evacuations or dangers.  It’s fun.  They make it fun.  Actually, no, they don’t MAKE it anything.  They just see opportunity for enjoyment, to relax and play on that slide and those swings.

Not going into Sonic tomorrow, and I feel guilty, but then don’t.  I want to and need to be here with the babies.  Write. Get out of my comfort zone as much as I hate that phrase, but that’s just what I need do.  Saw a bench at the park or rather just in the not-too-distant distance in front of and on the side of a large grass field that you might think is used for polo but I think it’s just a grand and nearly overwhelming grass field for kids to play on.  Soccer, chase, tag, what be.

This house I could see as an office, or some property I’d own for either a rental or just an office.  Rather big for just an office but it’s what’s smattered in my inner sigh sense, blogging in here for weeks, just locked in and forcing self to produce a book from the blog.  The blog has to come first, and the realizer and readier for whenever I’m stuck or feel I’m recycling the same sentences, is the Now.  Write the Now.  Where you are and what you’re doing.

Jack and Emma watch the Grinch, one of the dozens or hundreds of versions, and eat some Cheerios from a red cup, the kind you’d see at a frat party.  Jack spills some and I tell him to pick it up and he tells me he will after he comes back from China.  I laugh a little but try to be serious and then tell self fuck that.  Have fun with them.  Be one on and of the playground.

I need to play more.  Not think so much. Not work, but only create, write, stay up late and pepper the manuscript’s streets with verse, pages, my phylum of music.  Keep pushing these keys and refuse to let self stop, the wine tells me.  Don’t allow distractions, obstructions.  Poetry is the vein, the blood, the beat, the blog, the Now ME.

Playing with the wine, the pink puddle in the plastic cannikin.  Turning left, seeing Broncos play Raiders.  Thinking more of my office.. what I want in there.  Anything that antagonizes, promotes, encourages creativity, bringing something to life.  This bought with Sonoma County wildfires plates a dose of déjà vu that I wasn’t expecting, to just live and write wildly and edit nothing.  Kids getting restless, and me too.  To finish this fucking book, and light MY story on fire.  Several fires.  And be so lovingly monstrous that it can never be extinguished.

Cuz F This S …

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My focus in the tech world, and Sonic very much instilled this, is Onus. Making it your own. I remember asking the guy who trained me, Luke, one of the kindest most eager to help humans I’ve ever met, what he likes about working here, and he said “You get to make it your own.” And since stepping into this department, I see that with even more formidable force.

Creative… words… where I’m from, what I enjoy.  Wine, running… talking, connecting.  Everyday this week has been a progression to a finely tuned centeredness that I’ve before felt.

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3:59pm.

Final coffee for day.  Ideas still at pace, in fact more fervent and frenetic than yesterday.  Connecting to whatever I can, and more manuscript and momentum in blogs, blogging.  Shorter entries, much like this one.  Meta of meta, here.

Finding that business is not so much deliverable products, or even services, but reality, truth.  That need precede the profession and confession of what you court, which is business tied to your list.

Before the first coffee sip, I see my work.  All of it—the teaching, the tech, wine, running, music, poetry, writing and blogging and random notes compiled in something that resembles some order-less order, ordered.  And I keep moving….

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Number coincidences, with the times in the article, and the word count being 529.  Today is speaking to me, telling me to break from wine’s fuckwit industry and only be and write here.

3:26PM.  First deal closed, today!  I’m celebrating and rejoicing a bit, but I’m very much tempering it.  Have to “keep the party going”, as I said in an email.  Made a couple calls, now to make more.  Haven’t done much else but make sure everything is in order for this transaction.  Nothing on books tomorrow but a couple calls.  Will be on phones but the aim is creative… creative approaches to conversations and interactions, creative ways to prospect.  One guy I met said to write down as many people as you can, that you know closely and well and not so.  Don’t look at people as prospects, look at them as people, people you want to get to know.  The literary approach… get to know their story and narrative.  The literary approach I have with wine will even more prove useful and relevant in this business.  Writer in a tech office… of course, of course!

Eating PB&J wife made me, just now.  Tired a bit after workout, but not to a degree with impedes my motion’s place and application.  New ways to speak this company, what it does and what it means, more than the simple list of products and services.  That’s certainly part of it, but it’s NOT the entirety.  This sales teaches me that I need to even more break any mold or template.  Not that I’m sticking to one, but write more post-it’s that define Sonic, that speak and SHOW Sonic.  How can I catalog and list, or even post what I’m thinking right now, after this first sale and after a Senior Account Exec told me I NEED to be in front of people.  She called my speaking eloquent and strong, and being on the phones is absolutely NOT the only path to what I’m after.

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6:04.  Back from Field

and ready for home.  Rain in Berkeley, my sweater still a bit damp.  Office thinned, with people working.  Quiet, but not.  The Inside Sales team of course animated as always.  This place with it being a work spot of energy and technology, creative, never truly stops, or sleeps.  With me writing about it, I notice the difference between morning mood and atmosphere to now, 6pm and later.  There’s a contrast, but not.  Maybe it’s just a different collective character in the office.  I study the texture and language of this office, even when I should be clocking out, going home, getting running components ready for coming day.

Now, walk across floor, all the way to the other side of building to room where Field Sales is based.  Put tablet in safe, make sure closed, then more steps back to here.

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