Yesterday’s writing, I’ll post later.  Just wanted to get in a quick note before work.  No Starbucks this morning.  Too much from budget, too much from life’s already-stolen time.  Another hot day expected.  Managed to finish a 16-line verse last night.  But that’s it.  The run/walk, or “walk-jog” as Dad calls them, caught me finally.  My legs, still a bit sore, but nothing anguishing.  Days off, tomorrow and next.  What I’m hoping to to do: write.  1000 words, each day, see where it me takes.  Looking through the pages of the book idea, see I have some ardently sovereign pieces in there, ones I believe worthy of readership.  Need more poem, though; more verse, more song, more rhyme.

Had to scratch nose, just wasted five seconds.  Wasting time, probably what slithers under my skin quickest.  Anyway, I’m atop the mountain today conducting tastings.  First time.  What’s the worst that could happen?  If anything, it’ll provide me a chance to see how the setting at that elevation influences character connection with wine, with other characters as well.  Wonder if the coffee’s ready…

Not yet.  In little notebook, only rhymes, all day.  Prose, frankly..  I’m just bored with its shape, any it’d try to take.  First sip…  Alive.  See mySelf only having to get to my office.  I’ll be the only one in there today.  All I have to do:  finish the last two chapters of MY book, then read the sample chapters recently mailed to me from a writer in Burlingame, near my old neighborhood.  His writing, from what I remember in the two sample pages I requested, then later read… interesting; like a Poe-curved Joyce warp.  Shorter paragraphs than I like, but still looking forward to seeing how he sets up a novel.  Not sure I have any coffee in office, better stop by store.  OR, I could get something from Pete’s.  It is Father’s Day, and I’m on no one’s clock being with own office, FINALLY.

Fantasy.. better than wine.  Better than the coffee, any vacation or travel.  It’s free, already ever-present.