Perception, in the kitchen.

Running in the morning.  Ahead on timeline.  IF you could call it that.  Great day in meetings, dinner with parents.  Still hungry but not eating anymore.  Writing novel on her… her… the one wanting more… the character changing jobs, going for creative and not the expected.  I should go to bed, she orders.  I resist knowing I shouldn’t.  In Kerouac beat mode, on beat time.  So what then… more story, more in this kitchen.  Cards for the babies, Valentine’s Day.  What is that.  I’ve never known.

Going to have capping of night, then to bed go… running in morning.  Have to write more on the run, the run is life, is love is reason, is the counter to the counter, the counterargument to anything pessimistic.

Sitting in this kitchen, at the parent’s house… some could judge, and that’s fine.  I’m so focused on my control and centeredness of things.  Some will argue, object and counter-cross-object and puff their legalistic language in so many climates and shapes, but I just don’t listen.  Right now, I’m righted in my Now.

More than simple perception or sight, I don’t know how to define it and I really don’t know how.  I don’t care to.  I think of the poets I study, and the diarists I admire, like Ms. Plath and Pac, Hem with his letters, and Mr. Sedaris, and I find so much funny.  I’m going to delight in life, knowing some will say something.

Distracted by messages.  Should go to bed.  And keep with my stance, keep with my keep, assert the sight and acknowledgement of everything around me.  The world is funny, Humans are funny and barely deserve that capital.  No one in this kitchen but me. Running when it’s dark. So.. go.  Light jazz in back, and me just going from thought to thought, possibility to new newness with this new movement.  Some would maintain a detriment in my narrative, but the peripatetic jabs are only a lucrative tell.  Somehow, they ought be.

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Not to

Write about waking at just after 3 from wind.

Driving in mostly dark to El Dorado Hills.

Sipping latte, will need nap later.

May not go into work tomorrow.

New diet starts today–

No dairy, no carbs, no alcohol, no sweets. The latte I’m sipping, the only clemency. Any latte, forgiven. Moderate meat consumption.

2017 all over again. Couldn’t believe that wind. I feel bad joking about it, that it wouldn’t come, that the news was embellishing. Can’t beat myself up. Heard Soda Rock Winery is gone…. Want to move.

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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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A Walk to the Front Door

Words, having conviction.  Conviction is not only what “sells”, but what proves memorable.  First sip of coffee, off. Off into the journal, on the Road.  Was thinking something yesterday, about travel and moving, movement.  But the specifics are lost on me this morning.  Plan for today is simple—Calls.  Speak on Sonic, speak on ideas, ideas for businesses, and writing–  THAT’S IT.  Yesterday someone messaging me, asking me if I want to go on a writing adventure with them.  They concerned about being a good writer, they don’t know writing well, they’ve been told for years that their writing isn’t mighty.  I tried my best to quell their concerns and anxieties.  I urged them to just write.  Then I told myself that I need do the same.  Today at lunch, writing and reading.  Writing about my reading.  After receiving the message last night while tasting some 2016 Landmark Pinot which surprised me with its attractive act and tap, I saw Jack upstairs in his room beginning his new Harry Potter book.  Can’t remember the title, which one it is in the series, but the thick one.  Or the most meaty, weighty page stack I’ve seen him bring home to day.  I thought the reading and writing adventure are, or should be, always in helix.

Not sure I was even walking to the front door of the building, after parking.  Felt like I was floating.  I nearly hovered past the door.  Why.  What’s causing this meditation about my character and in my inner voices.  There’s like, I don’t know, a student and professor chant about the morning. I’m learning, with a learning curve that doesn’t indicate any compromise or handicap.  Now that I’m through the door and in the building, I’m moving.  This Mike Madigan knows what he wants but doesn’t know too much about it.  Hence, I suppose, the nature to this project.  On this 6th step of it.  What now, and to where.

The wine last night put my visions and meditations in a number of noted tumbles, forcing more thought and words, conviction in wine.  Chardonnay and Pinot, and whatever else.  The conversation around me currently interrupts the inner recital.  Wish people would just be quiet, but they’re doing their job, and well at that, what I should be doing.  Okay, I say to self.  Note everything, like one of the people talking now that minces my concentration.  He showed me a photo log of sites that he’s inspected and where installs have been transpired.  I was daunted by his photos, not just by how many there were, but the variation and expanse of focus.  Am I aiming to be the top sales person in this division, I thought last night with the Pinot?  No.  Not necessarily.  But I will make an impression, or have my story read.  Not so much a story on sales, but doing something different.  Writer in a tech office.  Often I sense some quake in my character grieving, “I don’t want to write about that….” Or “Don’t write about Sonic.” But ever, that’s all I think about.  This new character, the new story.

A thousand words, Friday’s beginning.  Have to send flight plan, as I call it, to Mark.  Then, off into day.  Prospecting, yes, but building… story.  The story and how I write this new story is how “success” will be gripped.  Appetite for associate words and sentences, more pages in these business cards, this messy work area that I wish somehow I could find time to organize. May come in on Sunday, before winery. Shit… forgot to bring new journal.  Wonder if they have any here, like the ones I see Tasha with, or other people in Marketing.  Checked, and no.  No matter. There are legal pads, and I swear to not start as I have in the not so removed past where I begin penning on one and don’t reach the last page.  Remembering that movie, Crashing, where the writer only used legal sheets, writing on the couch of those two English students. Miss being a student, miss going to class and writing, having something to turn in. Then why not do it again?  Okay….  I’m a student.  Studying, well, THIS.  The Now.  Tasha told me those little journals were from a TedX event years ago, and they’re all being used or have been used.  I have legal sheets,   Elephantine plains that want my words, or I’m telling myself they do.

Reading Road again, as I noted the other day.  And already it strikes me differently.  Not just with Dean in how he’s presented, but the narration and how it always returns to Dean.  That is the singularity.  He is Sal’s Road, even when he’s not on page, or at all in a chapter.  Reading now as my son does his Potter manuscripts.  Just thought, while reading a bit of Road that I should use the blog as my notebook. I don’t need another legal pad.  Already have one on desk, to right next to elbow under a little notepad.  Need more coffee. Already.

Projects beginning to surface.  Wondering how much more writing I’d have to page if I ceased using paper.  Apart from the legal pad.  Or, what if I decommissioned that, too?  More space on desk…. Post-it’s under forearms.  One of them reading, “Before you write—Where are you and what are you doing?  In one word, and ideally one syllable.” Think.  See.  I’m seeing where I want to go in this AE walk.  Keep everything simple.  Say less, listen more.  One project, one word, Sales.  How it should never be sales, how what so many want to do is convert before contributing to a conversation, a new association and relationship.  Right after I walked through the door this morning, I told myself, “Today, no selling.” When I call down these lists, I notice myself getting at times unsettled, or anxious.  And I’m not even on the call yet much less through the door talking about what we can do for them.  No selling.  Just call and say HI.  That’s it.

8/9/19

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