Me: Heard, Hopefully

Put 1000 words into book.  Off to kitchen for night’s cap.  A white blend, 2010.  Napa Valley.  Strange turn in my sipping habits.  Thinking of Paris, Barcelona.  Today, draining me.  Need a glass, STAT.  My friend said this was a bit sweet, and I agree.  But it doesn’t hinder palate presence or impact.  Just fetched my glass final.  Thinking of tomorrow night’s classes.  How can I make it different, more so than anything I’ve done.  Have the exchange over Mr. Hemingway’s book in a sort of book club mode, where we completely embrace Reader-Response.  If I could only get some students to take the focus off themselves, their troubles and trials, actually focusing on the BOOK, then I’ll have.. something.

A poem I wrote earlier, has me wanting to continue down that path, only listen to music for night’s rest, freely frolic in form.  Giving Self only 22 minutes for this entry, or “post” [since it’s headed for blog].  Paris, only thing on this writer’s attention plate.  Panning into usable imagination.  The streets, gardens, the tower, that one restaurant where we all enjoyed our final vacation dinner.. where Alice ordered shrimp but couldn’t figure out how to eat it, soliciting help from my sister.  And that wine tasting, granted not in Paris but in Burgundy region, only having me reflective on everything that stressed me today.  Beautiful weather outside, tearing tumult inside, eating at MY character.  It’s my fault, I take weight.  I’m too thin-skinned, I’m a writer.

Behind on my writings, these “posts.” Again, I blame Self.  I write too fast.  Fear I’m too passionate.  And I don’t care what some in this “industry” have to say.  Instead of being so fulfilled by shortcomings, downfalls, anything of others, maybe they should focus more on what pulls at their life.  Why can’t they see what ails them?  One of my friends at work today put it perfectly.  I won’t quote this character, as to respect confidence, but [pronoun]’s right.

8 more minutes.  Sorry, was distracted by some footage I shot the other day, of the bottling line.  Details around me, RIGHT now: bunched blanket, remote controls, of course the white blend on the end-table, a muted TV, horrible show.  In a judgmental mode, as that’s what many of today’s guests wanted to be: bloody critics.  Like this one woman asking me, “Well, I have to ask, what’s the oak regimen on this one?” Like that would stump me, like I wouldn’t know.  When I told her, this “winemaker” from New Jersey [I know, funny], she just sipped, looked at her quietly aloft spouse.

Looking through these older pictures, I see struggle, repetition.  The wine “industry” keeps us chasing, ‘less we take it by the neck and MAKE it do what we want, for us.  That’s where I am.  NOTE: I have no qualms with any 1 winery, ANYWHERE.  BUT, I do hold specific agitation for industry culture, that of underpaying employees, carrot-holding/tugging.  Everyone’ll have a comment about my stance, thoughts and barbs to what I’m expressing.  But I’m speaking freely.  IS that not allowed in “the industry?”