Got the veg, but no SB.  All good, no rush.  Nurse home having her girls game night, first in a while she tells me.

I’m collective tonight, thinking about everything from this new sales story, to my kids and how they react to and love the Nurse, to Mom and Dad over last night talking business with me, and others and their foul, putrid, obvious ways.

Educating me, on how to write in such conditions.  In this new arena.  Had a book title thought of and I thought kept in memory, but I was wrong.  Oh well, I say to SELF.

No idea what it was, but I remember the essence of it.  Figuring out ME – How I got here, who I am, what the importance of all this is.

First night of this type…. 19:50.  Will give self to close to 21:00 and text Nurse, see where the night is.  Communication, wow… imagine that.

The volume and extremity of freedom this writer now feels, just makes me smile.  Not attempting to explain to self or understand it even.

I’m here.

I don’t need to explain anything.

To anyone.

I’m FREE.

Roasted veggies, my new jam.

Buckhorn Grill, I think this place is called.  Full house, more or less.  Sipping SB, listening in to people at bar to left.

Learning… not distracted.  And somewhat surprised how filling these vegetable are.  Peppers, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, zucchini.  Or is it cucumber.  I think zuch’… As the Nurse would call it, abbreviating and giving something anything some cute name.

I feel free, that blast of liberation and realization.  Holy fuck.. I’m here, and this.  THIS.  No worries.  No constructions or laws dictatorial.  Huh… imagine that.

Taking my time, slowing down, no fixation on any one thing.  This SB reminds me of the early TR days, at St. Francis, talking to people and at the beginning of my tasting room life acting like I knew what I was talking about.  Especially with an SB and the single-vineyard Cab.  And now look at me.

Years later, still beginning.