Home. Just beginning session, already frustrated. With what… This notion of a prime project. I should have one, if I’m ever to get what I really want. Last night’s thousand, posted to blog later tonight, after a glass or two of Zin. 2010, again. Er no, I had the ’08 the other night. Tomorrow morning, early, doing some blending. Set to be at winery at 7:30a, but shooting to be there earlier, close to 7’s harshness. Reminds me of the harvest mornings, out there shooting the guys work their magic on the new fruit. Class tomorrow night, as well. My focus, showing students how to isolate ideas, then expand upon them, build paragraphs, eventual essays. Not going to wish away life over next couple months, but I am very much looking forward to this term concluding. I should be focusing on pathway to Road. Doing what I’ve ALWAYS intended to do. Write.
7:33pm. Twelve hours from now, I’ll be there, crush pad, blending. The wine has to have a uniqueness about its skips. A blend, yes. But just as well, its own varietal, collectively.
Haven’t logged yesterday’s standalone’s. Only 2, as I recount. Can’t think clearly with this child-centric item swarm, all sides. SB in freezer, bringing it to summer’s parch temp. Just thought, I may be in more of a Cab mood tonight, as I need fire behind me, to get this book done. And, no joke, I’m accessing my notes, from the little notebook I’m always carrying, brandishing when needed. One note from today, a lady on my second cave tour saying she “loves Meritage.” Less than twenty seconds later, “I don’t really like Bordeaux’s.” This was right after her friend said, “…but she’s the real wine connoisseur…” I just laughed, or wanted to, as this was another case of someone wanting to be seen a certain way, in wine’s wake. I of course stayed silent like I said, but as soon as I was back in the Room, it was scribbled, recorded.
Opened ’10 Cab. Only been de-corked for a minute or two. Already alive. Dark earth, pepper, sweet oak, vanilla, cherry alongside leathery plum– but I don’t want to dumb it down to clusters of descriptors, simplistic marketable speak. Texturally, it’s soft, expansive, genuinely wooing. Want to site “balance,” but that’s a word that wine people, consumers as well as industry clones, use in nauseating multiplicity. What I’m sipping, sings sensory music, provides palate poetics. And I’m sure my “wine lingo” will annoy some, but that’s how I talk, being from the Literary world. Origins of vinoLit..
9:06pm. Should probably try for bed early, this evening, as I’m to be blending rather early. Just thought of all these standalone pieces I’m producing.. where are they going? I always complicate this broach, especially after the entertainment of “prime project.” my answer: INTO. A. BOOK.
Glass empty. One more glass, I’m thinking, before closing session. All these pages, my advance toward Autonomy, what I wrote about all those times sitting in Napa’s Roasting Company, with my afternoon mocha. Almost miss those days, as they were the most honest, true to my character’s character. Was more charismatic, then, writing from pure hatred for that office across the street.. the box. Still have those notes upstairs, in that plastic tomb. Not the larger one, holding gallons, but the smaller, slender file-holding mini-structure. Morning: had to be at desk, making calls by 8. Meaning, if I wanted a coffee, or have some form of breakfast, I’d either have to do so before touching down, or arrive early. No more details, as night would only be soiled. Time for last Cab glass of sitting’s vast. Imagining Paris. Need to start language studies. Had an idea to visit bookstore, tomorrow, while on campus. Pretty sure I get a discount. Want to speak to random people, best I can, record in my journal, in French. Change my character for subject matter profit…