So I’ve done it. This is my only blog. Now, after some unintended, unANTICIPATED, pushes today, in this 95+ weather, aggravated, it has a “purpose” [after so many people passing have to me posed, “What’s the purpose of your blog?”], this log of the Bottled Ox. Write till I’m in that office, till I’m out of the proverbial bottle. Free. So, is this still a “wine blog?” One retort, no. Other, yes, insofar as I sip while scribbling, as you know. OR, tipsy typing. In this weather, IPA, only. Not in any mood for wine. The heat, hurting, “making me sick” like that one marketing moron I was working with in 2010’s brutal summer hours said, in his grungy oversized office.
Interesting, I’m seeing, this new “purpose.” But it’s not that new. At all. I’ve always targeted Artistic Autonomy. Ever since Mr. Sullivan’s Creative Writing class, my senior year [high school]. Just think the symbolism is unexpectedly relevant. The Ox, fighting to escape the bottle. So, when I do, will I shut down bx? Don’t know. Probably not. Am I saying that I WON’T close it at ’12’s end, now, from this revelation? That’s exactly what I’m saying. “But you changed your mind,” someone could say, some Napa critic, or a wine pig from either side of the mountains. “Yeah, and?” I fire back. I know what I’m doing, hard to believe.
Beer 1, terminated. Want to try one of the bottles Lacey me gifted. Still haven’t printed those pieces from yesterday. And haven’t typed today’s, yet. Another attribute upon which I want to build here on bottledaux: the Writing process, struggle. Why I carry the mini-Mead to the tasting Room, so I can log happenings away from chair. Writing, its assumption, brings no solution. Or at least it shouldn’t. At least for me. I don’t ever want to be complacent, or even satisfied. Momentarily please, fine. But I don’t ever want to see the struggle as squelched.
Day job, verse. Then, report to journal. At least that’s one template. Either way, keep writing. All I want to do. And at my age, can’t afford to change mind. And the Self-published projects, with actual pages, prolonged release. Just can’t afford copies, currently. Will still contribute to their weight, though. Quite consistently. In fact, after this entry, or “post,” I’ll be adding to the 1,000+ from this day’s events. Tomorrow, in the tasting Room, going to log everything. EV. ER. Y. THING. Even how many glass racks I dry. Or “buff.” Hate that word, loudly. Can’t remember where I’m placed tomorrow. Where in the winery’s hospitality web, specifically.
Want to do some more research on spots I want to visit. But all I can do, a web search, sadly. So, I can hear someone, the skeptic, that same clown that asks “What’s your blog about?”, say “What would you write there?” I have no idea. I’d bring the notebook, and find out. Just see what happens, like Kelly would. So I, now, am definitely thinking about the life of this blog, where all my eggs lay. What if I’m in my office next month, or even in 90 days? I know, don’t get ahead of yourself, Mike. But all writers wonder that, when they’ll be able to live from, BY, their pen. And I am no different, even by a molecule. I always wonder that. Honestly, I wake thinking about it; I fall to sleep in its idealistic trips. So, if anything, I’m just a Writer.
So, I’m watching another show on BRAVO, where some jape owns their own business, has their own office. And in this specific context, I truly am speechless. Watching, thinking how I shouldn’t feel how I do, but rather try to learn from their ways. This one woman, a freelance writer/blogger, has a slew of qualities that I should emulate. But on the other hand, there’s more about her I find repulsive, somewhat sad actually. Chilly, here in the house. I’m at peace with my outdoor exposure for the day. No need to go past that door, again. But, still would like another beer. Need one, to keep these types tussling.
10:26pm. Night’s cap. Still no wine. But, I’m thinking about my project with Katie. Texted her earlier, about a possible Syrah effort. But we’ll see. I love Syrah because of how underrated it is, how it’s overshadowed by varietals like Cab Sauv. Even Sauv Blanc, in some cases. Off to song, revived. Alive, tried.