Jack watching a wildlife documentary, the one we were watching earlier on Yellow Stone and its wildlife.  Emma upstairs for a nap.  Feel like I could use one.  But I should be working.  I am, kind of.  Co-worker texting me saying you can order beer from Moonlight Brewing up the street and pick it up tomorrow.  Should I?  Need something to do… besides gather notes from inside the quarantine dome.

Sparkling water, not coffee.  Coffee and wine, wanting to cut back on both as to elevate and amplify production, as well as just be more present.  Coffee you might think does just that, and it does to a degree, but it drops you. And the fall and landing are impediments to movement.

2:13… A NAP.  No… stop thinking about it.  I am.  I swear.  No emails coming in, and no phone calls or messages.  A stall in the day.  Keep moving, that’s the not-so-secret pill, apply, coat if you would.  Would you?  Why do people write that, or say it (even worse), “… if you would.”


Latte from Oliver’s.  Not bad. Only thing I’m permitting self aside from sparkling water, during this fast.  Just made two calls.  Both voicemails.  Looking for other businesses….  IDEA.

Writing notes in a bit.  Couple more calls…

Left voicemail.  Marketing firm in Petaluma.  Never heard of them… looking at their site and getting ideas for my businesses.  Visual… more photography.  May go for a drive later and film and shoot in a vineyard.  Where I’ve said I’m the most me, but now I’m starting to not just acclimate to the current work office situation, but needing it.  See a story in it.  See more stories.

Kids in the other room playing some learning game with bird sounds, sitar riffs, and some gentle kid-focused ambient music.  Keep writing, I tell myself and stay in the chair.  This latte isn’t the best I’ve ever had, honestly.  I should buy a latte or espresso, some coffee drink machine when this is all over and I have my own office, which again Jack asked me about yesterday.

I’m picking up the journal….  On the desk.  Went into kitchen to check on babies.  They’re taken by the challenges of the screens and the puzzles… fill in a letter here, there, then this song plays.  I tell myself again… DIFFERENCE. 

Stopping typing.  Write students a quick email, then scribble notes in journal.

How would I sell this, this situation, I think to myself.  Shelter… IN…. Place.  SIP.  Huh… as in, wine?  As in …. This latte?

10:25.  And selling this stage, this corner, this office, my kids going crazy and the virus still out there.  What if a virus could be something beneficial?  What if it already is?  Not with people falling ill, or worse, but in this.  With my family, in house, safe, SIPping the latte and typing as I am.

11:58.  Lunch, I guess. Other half of the burrito I got yesterday.  Stuck in house, not stuck at all.  Thinking of the idea of a “secret sauce” as some say and not having it be a secret at all.  In fact, blaring it to everyone, and showing that you’re the only one that can do it that way.  Interesting.

                Took a picture of this desk.  This work station.  Why… to capture that I’m here, producing, working, being the most me of the me-ness I can put to page.  More than productivity, more than staying busy, or moving as I say, even more than staying “STARVED” as my article’s title asserts, but breathing, and not thinking so hard.  You don’t need to.  Everything you need and have and should want for growth or advance is right HERE with you.

                Sparkling water in a bit, some new kind or brand I found on the Oliver’s shelves.  What I took since I couldn’t find any of the Bubbly, or do they spell it Buble?  Don’t know how to put an accent on the ‘e’, on this basic bitch of a laptop.

                Co-worker emailing me and saying she needs a beer from Moonlight, up the street as we’ve met there before with her husband.  They’re big fans as am I and more and more and further we get into this stay-the-fuck-home decision.

Talk about wine, that always helps.

The Zin from last night.  A Zin, all I can say.  Had the jammy thing going on, high alc… Was nice, actually.  I’m distracted, though.  Thinking too much.  I’m always thinking about writing about wine, and how wine deserves much more than what the critics and name-names give it.  So here I am with the chance to do so, like in English class teaching myself to write again.  Time is fading, as is this time to finish a book on wine.  So there it is, it worked…. No more talking about the thing out there, only wine, only what’s in here, only the NOW at this desk… the smallest desk I’ve ever had to work at.

Breakfast.  No going out… Told myself I was going to fast till noon.  See a lot of people posting about that, about how not to gain like a hundred pounds during this shelter order.  Coffee’s supposed to be an appetite suppressant, or something.  But it’s not suppressing shit right now.  Write through it—or no, write about it, the fasting…. Think of breakfast, yes, imagine some breakfast on a road trip for your wine book, or papers, essays, notes whatever they be…. Jotting in your notebook like you should every morning and some at night…  Tomorrow flying to Texas.  Austin.  Always wanted to go there.  Finally I am.  And it’s wine taking me there.

Removing self from self and more deeply considering my ping-ponging thought pattern over the years, my inability to singularize for purposes of answering that question “So what do you write about?” and other efforts or trial, during this time I just STOP.  Write about wine, the tasting room….  Wine experiences, research (“research”) I might do.  I’m meant to write this, I know, so why do I do the back and forth?  Who cares.  I’ve stopped it.  Funny though, the reality, of me being here and not in the vineyard, not traveling, not going anywhere… just seeing self in the car driving to the airport for some trip to Spain, or France, or Australia. Part of me thinks wine is limiting as a singularity, a topic.  That’s precisely what I need, as what’s limited is the most promising in terms of expansion.  Can’t explain what I’m thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.  Know what I’m going to do, what I’m doing… Mike, I say to self, you’re already doing it.

Tonight going to open the other red I bought yesterday at Oliver’s…. the Kenwood, what was it… Cab?  Good. One night of Zin and I’m utterly and definitively Zin’d out.


Measuring productivity a little more closer.  Started timer…. Looking for leads.  Have territories defined and settled, Marin County and Berkeley.  Now looking for businesses owners.  Writing letters.  Emails, really.  No more than 4 lines at an absolute maximum.  Reposing certain Sonic beliefs and past posts.

In this time type, marketing yourself and speaking your story and intentions, everything YOU is more than essential.  Talk about essential employment, you’re hearing that on the news all the time now I’m sure, this is essential.  You ARE an essential worker, especially for YOU.

Going on 39 straight uninterrupted minutes in the chair.  Ready for class tonight.  Tomorrow at 4am, going to start conversations with everyone I can find across all my verticals.  In fact, I don’t believe in sole and singular verticals….  I believe in vertical collectives.  This quarantine beam is making me sharp, more intricate and decided in my production, in my business containment and practice.


Jackie wants to play outside but is told it’s schooltime. I agree.  Why, as it keeps him contained and away from usual crazy.

Promised Emma I’d play upstairs with her after mom does her hair.  Email is quiet, not hearing back from people.  So now I feel a bit in survival mode, touching up my CV and one letter, later writing another letter… all sales and marketing.  What am I selling.  Me.

What I’d teach anyone, in narrating self the aim is to sell, and if not sell then connect.  Get people to listen.  Think I found something in this, and I have to credit the quarantine.. how so.  I just do.

In bed by 8:30, wake by 4am.  Have to institute and imbibe a formula, and there it is.

Finishing latte, then what.  How about another letter…. More than networking, conversations, have one wherever I can.  That’s the aim of the day… new conversation.  With others, with family, with self.


A call at nine, and that’s all I have scheduled for today.  Kids are playing with each other in living room.  Loud, but at least civilly.  Going to write in journal in a bit, page for the day.  Last night’s class, speaking of journals, making me think more.  Revisiting certain projects and missions.  Hard to write right now with kids as loud as they are.  But at least I don’t have to separate them or be the ref for some scuffle.

Last night a couple of the students making jokes about the quarantine, using the same kind of humor they find in Lawson and Sedaris…. Then I started thinking about it, about this whole thing.  A pandemic named after a bad beer, or the official name, “COVID-19” which sounds like a Star Wars robot character that didn’t make the final draft.  I’m stuck in the house with crazy kids, or maybe they’re not crazy but just want to live.  Want the same thing we all do and that’s for shit to get back to normal.  They just communicate differently.  Think that’s all.

Shaved finally, showered (also finally), and dressed like I’m going out to the field.  Giving me a sense of if not normalcy then like I’m not trapped here.  No Starbucks run today, not letting myself.. what day is it I wonder.  OH, Tuesday.  ‘Cause class was last night.

The room got brighter.  Think the sun’s appearing and I think both kids just noticed, Jackie coming in here and asking if they can play outside.  Jack knows I’m working but asks if I can watch from the window.  I tell him to brush his teeth and check with his mom.

Last night woke at 3-something and couldn’t go back to sleep.  Had a sharp suggestion internally that I’ll either be laid off because of this covid shit, or there’ll be some seismic opportunity from this quarantine.  I don’t know, I can’t see any sort of future, and neither can you or anybody.  Kids laughing upstrair laughing about something.  I want that, I want to be able to see humor in this, but each day is harder.  Am I making it difficult?  Need be more lawless and Lawson about the quarantine.

Why do I want to work so hard?  Like Dad even suggested the other day over the phone, What do they expect you to do?  Not going to make my quota this month more than likely, but it’s not my fault these fuckwits aren’t getting back to me or turning in their contracts.  Even if one landed, I’d be fine.  So I’m doing what I’m supposed to, like a good boy.  That’s me being a growling journal-goblin.  I’m in a mood, I know… TOPIC NEXT.

Kids going outside.  All they want to do is play.  Jack tells me he’s like an adult and can watch little Emma.  I tell him to look out for cars, and that I’ll watch him from my quarantine view.  He says okay and heads to the garage to get something for Emma.

… there was so much from yesterday I meant to write but didn’t get around to it.  Like how Emma would go out our driveway turn left then go up the closes driveway on her left then do it again.  Was her own little lap, loop, on her “big girl bike” as she’s so quick and eager to call it, share with other people that she has such transportation efficiency.  And Jack with that race car that Mom and Dad got him.  The green one that’s a total beast of a remote car for a kid his age.  Just perfect, really, as he loves to drive it off sidewalks, into his sister’s bike, into puddles, around the block with me walking.

Businesses are people.  People are not businesses but people, stories, lives, love and pain… past and the current pages.  I have to remember this when I sit to write as I am now or when working, prospecting but not prospecting, but looking for people to know, meet, somehow work with.

Again quiet.  Jack in the other room reading while Emma naps.  I sip this coffee slow so my energy is assured, or more or less expected.  Just heard from a prospect, not going with our services.  I expected that, honestly.  More an SMB opportunity than something Enterprise level.

from this morning

Drinking coffee from home, here, from that old ass Keurig thing.  Did I spell that right?  Guess I did.  Want a latte, this isn’t as tasty or literary, or animated, sexy like a latte.  Latte is just fun to say.  Coffee is boring.  What’s to this cup but something hot and containing caffeine?  Should I do Starbucks, just one last time? Swear I’m going to quit, just not swearing on anything, like a book or relic, some person’s lungs or anything like that.  Yes, one last latte. I will even title it so, the last latte, but with caps eventually.  Looking at my cup here on desk, and want it to go away.  I feel it just oozing boringness and more stress into my story and this desk, scene, workstation homed.  So yes, I’m getting wallet and some cash, and going.

                Kids… how do they stay as lively and excited as they are?  I guess from Jack’s way of not caring so much.  And haven’t I encouraged others around me, sales reps and community college students, so?  So…. Do so, Mikey.


Jack just asked me if I’m bored.  I tell him I’m not.  I tell him I make it fun.  “Do I make it fun?” He asks me.  I laugh, then we start talking back and forth in Irish brogues.  “Jahkeh Chez, whaht arr ya doin in there, ya crazeh chiLd?” Not sure I’m doing an Irish accent too much credit with how I write the inflection, but he’s still doing it and making me laugh, and I don’t want to work anymore today, I’ve decided.

Both contracts sent out, nothing returned.  Can’t write during day like this.  Has to be done early and late.  Take notes in between, my new routine.  So is this a note then?  Maybe.

Jack absolutely losing his mind….  He’s mocking me now, with no fear of consequence or me getting mad, which I like.  Don’t want my kids to be afraid of me of course, and in terms of the respect factor I’m giving him certain passes in this time of incarceration.

Am I bored? No… can’t let myself be.  But more than usual since this lockup.  What do you write?  I keep asking myself.  EVERYTHING.  Maybe that’s the title for this book – written like this, ‘what do you write everything’.  No punctuation.  NONE.

3:57.  Want a glass of that white I bought at Oliver’s.  Bought a red for dinner, some Mourvedre from a winery in Anderson Valley.  I know the winery I just don’t know how to spell it.  Will post on other blog, later.