12:27pm.  Lunch in 2260 breakroom, after meeting CTO and having discussion on this company, and what I do, what’s to be done, how to narrate and not so much a how-to but when thinking of this company and how people see us and what we do, what we have pictured.

Got a sandwich, and sparkling water.  Under $8 which is my ideal lunch budget, if I have one.  I do today.  Not too much a fan of this sandwich, but I’ll eat it anyway.  Have to.  People eating here, going out.  Me collecting thoughts after meeting and from day so far, how I want the week to go.  Conversations.  Start as many as I can, however I can.  After this hour or just short of break, catalogue all contacts and conversations.  Log them.  May even start a spreadsheet and I fucking hate spreadsheets.

Drafted a new email, earlier.  Short than the one I used before.  Finding that will be a prime and promising facet to my approach in this 100-day project, and my Sonic story.  CTO asked me, “What could we work on?” I told him nothing, but rather contribute more to existing momentums.  I cited education.  He asked for examples, I replied think-tanks, interdepartmental educations and forums.  Why have I not done that, already, myself? Maybe I could start today.  I will.  Again, conversations.  Conversation.  Learning how to build a business here and draw it, write it, already be there before you’re THERE.

There’s more than a whole book, here.  More than a career.  More, something for people to read, study. If it’s written.  I will write it, myself.

One guy, can’t recall his name, I think he’s rather new to Sonic, just walked by and into the changing/shower room, into the workout clothes he’s carrying.  Would run today but I’m still slow and a bit sluggish, lethargic.  Tomorrow I’ll run.  And meal prep.  Noted earlier that this is to be the best week of my life and certainly my Sonic story, so far.  So.. do everything different.  No wine, all week.  See if that happens, but I need it to. Need to rise earlier than early.  Write more of this book, more of what’s to happen.

Writer in the tech office, saying hi to passing friend from billing department.

Someone behind me playing one of the two pinball machines, another reading a book at the tall counter.  Went over to other building earlier, for meeting with CTO but also to look at what food was, is, available in the breakroom and already since my last visit which was a couple weeks ago it’s changed so much, so much.  I need the same do, today and all days in this week. Write more letters when back at office, shorter is better.  Send them off, to contacts from LinkedIn and elsewhere.  Log everything, everything.

Took picture of sandwich and water so I’d remember, somehow turn into the day’s narrative.  Should title the day.  Title it what.  PLANT.  I’ve planted something, an idea a thesis a direction a something to tell and share with the babies.  I see them working in my office, our office, creating, learning, self-educating.


Starting day with a money project.  One I just thought of.  And, taking notes for next week.  One, don’t be in the office.  Canvass, knock on doors, meet everyone in business you can.  Save Friday for in-office day, admin and strategizing.

Today, a minimal spend day.  Not a no-spend.  Get a run in, somehow.  Someone in leads group suggested a running book.  Might buy later, have plenty to read now with current texts for classes and papers, and my own writing.  Need follow own counsel of reading aloud what I write, like I taught in last week’s meetings.  Get grading done today, if I can.  Can I?  Yes.  Do I want to?  Not at fucking all.  I laugh as I still struggle with grading, but have improved galactically as a “teacher” and speaker.

Started the book yesterday, when on break and before meeting the IT guy at Del Valle, where we both had a beer and tacos.  With the heat outside and a bit in that little family-sung building a beer has never tasted so romantic and harmonious with a day’s weather.  Anyway, the book…. Writer in the tech world, or internet world, somewhere where you wouldn’t expect him.

8:02, babies awake.  Jack in trouble for something he did and I struggle to be the angry parent of retribution.  I’ve expressed to him that I’m not pleased with what he did but I assured and reassured that I love him and that I’m his daddy and I will always be his daddy and love him.  Should I have not done that?  Far more important than money, or any tracking of money, budgeting, any associated mood.

Another part of next week’s Sonic plan—do more of what I like, what makes me happy.  Which is pretty much everything, but the elements which make me most happy will receive voluminous intent and focus, and presence and practice.  This was to me very much said when I met with the Petaluma prospect, and I spoke Sonic and its offerings.  I felt more confident with the more technical and connective composition than I thought I would.  I felt confident, happy, home.

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.


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.



No deadline of any kind.  Any possibly that’s the problem, Mike thinks.  He digs through his notes, nothing hits him, strikes him, flirts with him tickles him or prompts him or anything in his functional writing being-shifts.  He types too much, too easily he thinks carrying his laptop everywhere and just opening and hitting keys with such ire and volume.

                Still nothing.  He thinks of what so many have told him about wine and how much he knows about wine—which he hates.  He can’t stand when people voice something to the lean of, “With how much you know wine, you should write reviews on your blog.” He hates that.  True detest.  He’d rather stop writing and wine in tandem.

                More notes.  Cabernet…. Singing storm of confusions and caresses.  He said this about a winery’s current released, somewhere he used to work, somewhat recently.  The man on his tour said that’s what he needs to do.  Mike asked what.  Man said this, this, the way you talk about wines… “You don’t sound like the others.  I don’t even know how they get paid what they do, or why people follow them so much.” Mike remembers himself nodding with synchrony of idea, sight, seeing that, writing wine.  But something happened.  Mike still doesn’t know what, but he didn’t follow that wave and ride of complimentary shove, and here he is.  Thinking of what to write on a winery day.

                7:18am.  To be at the winery in a little less than two hours.  He received a text yesterday asking when was the earliest he could be on property.  Mike responded curtly, “10.” His scheduled time.  He tires of the tasting room, much material as it provides.  He wants more from wine and the writing he does from it.  What, he doesn’t know.  Starting his blogging life if ’09, he now orders more from his self.  Maybe he should dismiss it, altogether.  And, stop even sipping wine for a bit to have it all in his pseudo and metaphysical internal illustrative.  Seeing wine made, sipped, tasted, the people swarming into the tasting room like yesterday when he dropped by Truett-Hurst to visit an old friend with whom he used to work.  Yes, at a winery.  She was a wine club manager and Mike thinks she does more or less the same thing now at Truett.  But she was helping a group, a pretty sizeable one.  Mike thinks she said something like 50 people.  Mike spied them for a bit, before walking around the property, through a tree awning of some kind, and onto a lawn, and over to a barn area where there were chickens seemingly talking to the people passing.

                What deadline should Mike rile.  Mike tells himself, “20 days”.  For what.  Something.  Something about wine, finished.  He doesn’t believe in “writer’s block”, in fact he completely dismisses the excuse.  And that’s how he sees it.  An excuse.  An excuse to not write, an excuse to talk about not writing, and just a frivolous scream of anti-compose.  Twenty days, starting today.  Should he?  A wine book?  About what?  Wine.  Just that.  That one word.  Wine… not what people should drink or even drinking wine, but the story of wine, the definition and anti-definition of her.  As Duke and Gonzo looked for some dream, American or otherwise.

                The dream is in the wine paragraphs, painting her with some syllabic rush and road.  How.  He’ll find out.  When.  Today.  And till the 28th.

                Just take notes, he himself tells.

…the tasting room, my vineyard walks.  Still hungry.  Need a piece of something back there, if there’s anything left.  And a glass of Pinot.  Any here in office?  I’m sure there is, somewhere.

Back from walk to get two more pieces.  Obviously hungry from run.  Set stopwatch, or not set it but started it.  Not getting up till, well, I absolutely have to.  Stay in the chair and write, like I tell students.  Got coffee to help.  Chewing gum now to substitute for brushing, not sure it is but it’s better than nothing at all.  In office, forcing self to work.  From this page then to something Sonic-associated.  Looking for IT and IW vendors, construction companies, building MY agency. Gum out, coffee in.  Thinking wine.  All wine.  At Lancaster this Sunday, what I’ll have tonight which is all I have in the house, just the remainder of that Merlot.  Wine… my story in it.  Want a vineyard, want to make wine from it, and not go to Davis or some program at the JC or wherever.  Start my label… write the whole thing.  My desk become a tasting room counter, right now, I see it, you should see it, it’s real.  Wine doesn’t want me to write anything else but HER.  In these last pulses in the office, I see and taste Cabernet.  I only want to be around wine.  No interest in anything, but those walks, the books I’ll write…

When I….

Today was one of those days where I battled not a mood or a funk but some perceived block.  And now, finally, just before having to walk outside to get the company car I had to park nearly a half-mile away, I’m out of it.  From under it, if I was under it.

Tonight in class, I continue with the consistency from last night, and that’s whim.  I think that’s what I want to do.  Sip of water, don’t want to walk down the street to get car.  And, I’m not in much mood to do much in this EOD stretch.  So what do I do.  Write.  About nothing.  No wine tonight. That’s what I say but you know how that goes.  Will need a cup of coffee for class, sip slow on way to Room then when there with the book-baggers, chug.  Out-speak them.  Out-run and write them.  Can feel a charge, certain and immediate electricity in veins and hands.  A fearless form overtakes me.  And I love it.  Hold to it.  The perception is completely gone.  Now feeling a restart and re-charge, re-write as I told a writer friend earlier.

Ready for class, ready for this me in the day’s second half, this re-written pace and presence.