Do I have one?  Not yet.  But I’m close.  I know that now.  Things have changed in ways I never anticipated, just in the last 24 hours.  Need to write quicker.  This ’11 SB’s definitely helping.  Tomorrow night, on mic, again, for the first time in years.  May bring material, may impromptu my presence.  Not sure what else to discuss this night, other than I can’t take the smile from my face, even if  I wanted to.  If only those dolts at the box could see a writer, now.  What could they do.  Not a thing.  They couldn’t then, they certainly can’t now.

The more research I do, into Plath, Pac, the more I realize I need to just let it all out.  Yes, I’m withheld, for time being.  But in time short, everyone’ll know what I truly want.  This may be a shock, but I write.  I LOVE Literature.  So…  Need to revisit Plath’s entries.  Know I keep saying that, but I do.  Some of her words, entirely appropriate for my current current, “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” There was something in my present that was especially relevant, to this quote and my present, given the recent blossoming, but I can’t remember what it was.  Curses…  Like I wrote in my book today, and yesterday, I’m thinking faster than I can write, surely at greater speed than my tired tips can slap these buttons.  Have to let it go.  Another thought will land.  Hoped.

This Sauv Blanc, much more poetic than I remember it singing.  Could be my mood, who knows.  Need sleep, coffee in morning.  And no more of that demonic coffee coffin, Starbucks.  I’m done.  Done.  Brewing at home, from now forward.  Need to ditch more habits.  That’s Literary, to me.  Wine, though, has to stay.  Like the writing; Wine IS Literary.  Especially bottles like this, or that ’08 Lancaster Estate Cab I always used to bring home.  Miss those pours.  Have to visit them again, sometime soon.  Clocking out of this journal, for another, one of solitary rhyme, verse.  Peace, in evening and morrow …