Now, just waiting.  Class done and final report sent to Leadership.

Now, the writer has time.  Thinking of going to the writing booth, that sounds good.  Need a change of scene.  Sitting or standing.  Usually you probably know I stand at the desk but now in chair.

The booth is different—a confessional or a soundproof box where you can hear your own thoughts ricochet and spring from one angle to another.

Moved to booth.  Thinking of a business, a store of some kind.  ME, the owner.  Showing up earlier, leaving late some nights but not too late.

What do I want?  My thoughts always go to a coffee shop, cafe, or restaurant.  But I know that would all but kill me.  So… what then.

Something with photography.  A gallery, but more.  So then what…?  Questions and questions in this booth session with the last of the last coffee for the day.  And then, more images of a shop bombard me, remembering San Anselmo and how I’d stop in on businesses for work a few months ago.

Then I start thinking of the last company… ugh.  How did I survive a year there, seriously.  Never mind that, I’m here and with an opportunity that I never thought would find me.  You know what I mean, it was just hard to imagine when there.

Back to the shops in San Anselmo, one of them French-inspired, from a guy’s travels, then the French restaurant right across the street.

I’m 46, I need to just pick something, then leap.

Coworker from the neighboring department walks by the window, talking on the phone.  Fire in Napa, what she’s talking about.  The one that started yesterday.  Reminds me of the ’17 fire and where my life was then… full-time in the wine industry, and no I will never go back.  Even as a part-time or on-call thing.  Just no.

She walks away and can’t hear her anymore.  Garbage truck rolls by, “On a Friday?” I say to myself.  Weird.  Then the metaphor of garbage, disposing of something, be it an object or perspective, attitude on something, how much you care about something or how much energy you devote to something or someone you know quite fucking well you shouldn’t.

Photography…. Old pictures on this laptop taken with an iPhone, most of them anyway.  Thinking I should test myself.

A challenge, post ONE shot from the camera, not phone.  Everyday.  Don’t have it on me now so I’ll have to wait till home.  

Sip coffee, actually landing on something, a new idea.  ‘Nother garbage truck rolls by.  What the hell?  Should have taken a picture, through this darkened glass.

Pictures from Oregon, that hike with Mom and Dad and the Nurse.  How quiet and removed it was, so distant from the stress that finds me and I know I shouldn’t let it.

Set timer to write for 10 minutes straight and now I come to its end.  Leaving office soon, just over 30 minutes.  Writing to music, texting notes to self while driving. Making this drive to the Vacaville home work for me, while I work for it and working while steering, navigating the sometimes thick as a malt traffic on Lakeville and 37 or 80.