2:13pm

Moving around with no order then total order of compliment to my aims.

Need to make a call I don’t want to, in bit.  Putting it off when I know I shouldn’t.  Calling Sears regarding the bullshit fridge they delivered to our house. Talk about not just “bad business”, but just dumb business.

Sipping what’s left of the coffee, cold.  Found another target.  Feeling autopilot—or no, the Agency, MY Agency, getting closer.  More than close.

Found event in SF, that could be rich with not just potential but immediate propulsion to discussion and something bigger than what I can immediately see.  Being this writer at a tech/internet company is only sequencing in more revelation and growth.  Anything can be created in this world, this office, this technology-tied ride, something—a whole industry and profession—I used to dismiss, even after becoming a blogger.  Today tallies knowledge, humility, growth, curiosity and non-forecasted landings.

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project

Day TWENTY-THREE

Starting at Jimtown, as often on a Sunday in my wine life.  Since shooting from pillow and sheet, thinking re-start, and re-write.  We have ever opportunities and invitation for re-writing the story, for starting over if we elect.  Right now, more decisions to be maddened closer to Day HUNDRED, so much of the page stack not yet written, and unread.  So, proceeding forward into horizon.

Thinking of essays this morning, what this day is, essay-wise.  The argument.  The centrality, and reality, manifold duality.  Where I am, Jimtown.  What I’m doing, writing before Week 2 of the semester that wasn’t supposed to happen.  What I’m learning, already—no rush.  In this re-write, I see more.  I’m calm.  There will be certain facets certainly cut off.  The idea of work, what it is for so many.  What it could be, why so many don’t let themselves be happy.  Why they don’t create madly, and let the vessel go to crashing.  Making decisions, this morning.  About everything.  Everything for my positions, for my identities, narratives…. Writer in a tech company, as an Account Executive no less, and me in the classroom.  Write everything.  The new bridges won’t frighten if not allowed.  Everything is everything, and the every-ness of each stretch is connected.

Back room at Jimtown, wine life Sunday but there’s more than just wine and this 23rd day in the project.  But…. Place.  More music, more verse, all opportunity and doors open sing to me, to US, this morning and all days.  Stress is permitted.  In this room, in your room, wherever you are, decide to be MAD.  With your story fiery and tireless, moving to your frame envisioned.  I share where I am and my work story from wanting for others to make theirs completely under their compositional control.  Thinking too much will not lead to creative, will not lead to production and the architecture of your aptness.

Just now, caught self thinking, and overthinking.  This morning is precisely what this “professor” needed.  Readings starting this next week, for the two classes I somehow inherited.  Teaching, and teaching what.  WORK.  For students to not only take ownership of their work, but see it as a self-educating ebb.  In my staying thinking at this table, I wonder if anyone else has ever written here.  And what discussions have been had here, and on what.  Who has sat where I’m sitting, what families have been in this part of the back room, and what did they talk about.  Where do they live, full-time.  What brought them to Sonoma County.

What I do for work, blogging and writing about work, but thinking about more than what’s to be thought of, irrelevant of what the clock was, is.  Dismiss my inner-pessimist, and have the day speak to me.  Where I am, what I’m doing in the back dining room of this market, quasi-restaurant.  9:16, should get on the Road in a bit…. Walk a vineyard, let the clusters help me ideas muster.  For the day, for the week.  Can write anything into tangibility in your re-start and re-write.  Looking at every antique and tool and thing in this room, where I’m working.  Seeing the images, work to itself even if not written.  It, they, assist in compounding and composing character.

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Day 9.  About conviction, about defiance, about all of us finding what we’re searching for.  Coltrane playing me and eased track.  Didn’t record my spoken word piece yesterday.  Was distracted by that bottle of Inspiration Syrah, the quiet of the house, and thoughts of writing about the wine industry.  When in my office, I see such a book taking shape, in not much time either.  Citing everything from the ridiculous pay, to the overwhelming focus on anything but get wine, to patterns and posturing from those patterns.
A truck passes me on 128.  Hate typing on my phone, but this is what I have currently.  Hoping for a day not at all busy.  Not at all preoccupied with the winery making its number for the month, but more my sanity, my sentences, this project and others.
This week in the office, I’m going to loudly and communicatively accelerate all movements and sights.  Why can’t I be the highest selling AE in my first year?  There is no law or rule or policy prohibiting such.  Actually, Sonic is the atmosphere that enables and emboldens such a progression to take place.  Whatever we do for work, we need not only make it our own, but have it teach us and be a measure of effort.  We should always seek to against ourselves compete.
Bed early tonight.  Wake at 5, 4 if you can.  At the end of 100 days, there will be a visual of such altitude, such attainment.  If I’m not the highest earner, I’ll have shocked everyone with what I’ve done.  Make calls, SET APPOINTMENTS…. just say hi.  Forget about return, certainly immediate return.  That’s a foot shot, I’ve learned, and an error the wine industry continues to seemingly want to make.  And I e never figured out why, why they expect such instant transaction and metrics ascension.  I’ve given up trying to learn, now focusing on my Sonic story and sense of new sense and story, character.
This writing spot, little spacious and sizeable inlet, used to write here in 2012 as I mentioned, and later in 2017 when working at the Foley camp.  Now, story is different.  Not at all fearful to question and defy regularity and policy, not that I was before.  But Sonic has shown me that one idea can prove purposeful and provide a purpose which pervades till your final day.  Such is now, such is me, such is my poetic and newly purposed immediacy.
What do I want from the day.  Peace.  Ideas for this week.  Ideas on growth, branding and rebranding but more than that…. CHARACTER.  Story.  Life.  Revolution.  Start acting like a revolutionary, I said to myself and some other people at Sonic a few months ago.  Today…. watch.  And won’t do so with malice or a burn-bridge intent, but to have my identity known.  For all in contact with me, not just for me.  If I’m not making sense I apologize….. you’ll see what I mean, shortly.

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Day FOUR

Latte.  Again the only one in bullpen as phone trainers leave.  Technical Trainers, I think is their actual title.  Headed to San Rafael, in a little over an hour.  Notes, today.  Only aim.  And put each note on blog or into some something-spere.  Aujourd’hui, que du bonheur…. The only way I’ll move and perpetuate my story.  Last night offering writing prompts and instruction to a friend in another department, feeling a bit not so much hypocritical but flawed, or not aligned with what I was assigning, if that’s clear.

Committing self to a standalone piece before leaving for SRafael.  About what… about opening a shop, of some kind.  A stationary story.  Don’t want it to be about wine, I know that’s what everyone expects.  So I want to do something different.  Maybe a fishing shop…. Fishing equipment, like the stores my Uncle Stevie used to take me to in Summer, fishing north of Sisters, Oregon, or in Sunriver, or along whatever river that was where we took the guided tour, escorted by a guy who wrote a book about fishing, fly fishing I want to say.  I’ve never lost that visual, and remembering the boat ride down that river, stopping at certain banks and casting into the moving water.   The singular piece has to be about something like that, I feel.  Something where someone does something that does something for other people…. Like a teacher, or a fitness coach, or instructor.

Love this part of the morning, in the office, and when the morning is shaped this way, with little sound and little intrusion.  Ransacking my thoughts for anything that can be in the story…. Me teaching, that one semester where I taught seven classes across I want to say four campuses.  Of course, I know now, no way to live.  But I have done it.  That was in ’07, twelve years ago.  Like more than eternity, a endless galaxy and time, solar system of time.  Latte waking me, think my solitude is about to die, as my friend approaches bullpen.  No… someone else passing.  I’m in a condensed and confined area, here, and can’t see who passes.  All the more reason for me to be out, as I wrote yesterday.  Need a vehicle switch, I just remembered, so I can charge my phone but also listen to something other than what’s on the radio.

Now I think the story should be about wine, a wine shop that also stands as a tasting room.  One that locals flock to on weekends and make it a point to visit during the week, to make the week more tolerable.  You know what I mean.  The story is dialogue-supported and commanded, like a script.  But not.  Character has tasting room/shop in downtown Windsor.  The first year was a struggle but now in year two the matters are different.  There’s talk, there’s magnetism, there’s a place where people depend on what the place provides aside from the obvious wines and their taste patterns and easing effects.  He refuses to be a business manqué, the same way I will not let myself be that type of penner.

8/7/19

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