4/20/13. Leaving for work in a few. Today, nothing entering under shell. Laughing at it ALL. Went outside already, to fetch morning mocha. This Computer, stalling [not sure why I cap’d “computer,” it doesn’t deserve..], should be writing pen2paper in A.M. Bringing grading to work, AGAIN. Hopefully today I’ll get to it actually. Didn’t taste my wines yesterday, was in no mood. But today, I’m all about wine, its elements, compositional constituents. Deeper into wine, I’m telling Self, this morning. That’s what’ll take me to the Road. To my office. Away.
Started a poem in line at Starbux, on phone. Said I wouldn’t do that anymore. So why in blazes did I? Won’t get to post this before departure. And so what? The important thing: I WROTE.
Last night’s Malbec.. beautiful; smokey, dark, hearty, unusual charisma for varietal Malbec. I’ll “revisit” it tonight, while grading [laugh].
In main tasting Room today. Writing everything.. from what people say, to how they sip, respond to wines.. EVERYTHING. Today, a short story. Or maybe even a novelette. Again, this monster pauses, then progresses. Need more time in Comp Book, which I’m bringing to work, by the way.
8:58am. Here longer than I should. Off to the day’s short story. Hope it curves more favorably than yesterday’s.
9:16pm. Two big groups today.. one for a barrel tour and tasting, the other for private tasting in cave. Watching an indie movie right now, about a guy keeping a journal, then it gets stolen. He writes by hand, all his entries. Thinking I need to ditch this laptop for a while–the blog, social media, anything internet, technological, and just write. And I will, after this entry.
No $140 tips today, but I found a $1 bill, just outside the cave, as I took my first group in. don’t think anyone saw me pick it up. I’m keeping it, with my SELF-publishing fund, but separate, in its own envelope. More stories heard today of people starting, successfully owning their own businesses. I’m right behind them, I swear. Again, didn’t taste my wines. Doing it first thing tomorrow morning. Oh, I also didn’t grade a single paper today either. Couldn’t believe how busy it was. The winery made two goals today, its only two. I have one.. to be a writer, independent, Self-sustaining. Almost there.
Neighbors, louder than they’ve ever been. Further motivated to get our house. And THAT’s all more motivation for making this writing sprout. Like the vines are now, irregularly quick. Watching the video of my friends discussing the new vintage’s growth. It’s still stunning me, how beauteous it is, where we live.. where I work, currently, at the Estate. Distracted by the film. IT’s starting to lose focus on the writing. Actually, it has altogether. Kind of like I did today, with the short story. I didn’t really lose focus, I was just too busy to make even a half-line note in the little pages.
Poured Self another glass of last night’s ’09 Malbec. The neighbors, starting to annoy me. Need to get us out of this condo, into a standalone home, just like I need this standalone book. My nerves need calming, another sip. […] I’m doing everything, EVERYTHING, for family. Especially little Kerouac. I don’t want him in this kind of complex, with noisy neighbors. SO I’m going to keep writing, till I see sovereignty, the Road, my office.. FREEDOM. My friend at work, just turning 21, enjoying her first glass with us after shift. Time, having its voice heard, again. What can I do, but ride current. Watching video again, knowing that before long I’ll be cold-soaking, racking into barrel on a day off. What if I’m an indie writer by then, only a couple months away? No argument. Time’s assault, nearer. If MY journal reflects anything aside from passion for page, it’s time awareness. Looking at Comp Book, knowing I need it more than this buttoned tool. Listening to my neighbors laugh.. angering. Could write a short, where a character deals with, puts up, only to pop into quiet rage, slithering in, murdering them both. Yes, it’s from the King I read the other day with class.. but still, I have to think this way, entertain all genres. Yes, wine’s my topic, thematic stake, but there’s else much for ink’s rink.
The dream, night before last, about the box, still simmering quite metallically on plate. And on time’s in-and-decline, I only notice how long ago it was, how immediately bright it seems. Or dim. Especially when I was back, by the copy machine, in the incubator with that true chatterbox-y devil Adrianna. I told the second group today, “I’m not a salesman at all, really.. I can only share my passion for wine, this winery.” A couple of them smiled, even lightly huffed, patting me, telling me that’s what makes a “good salesman.” So humbled by their assurance, praise, counsel [as they were lawyers]. But I’m a writer.
BUT, maybe I WILL open that wine shop/bar one day with my sister, move cases over cases, have even more about wine to write. Need another glass, need more Kelly material. Think I’m finally solving mysteries about my character. She’s not as shy as I once her estimated. Only adding to her dimension, sprints, creative entrappings. I’m hospitalized in her brushes abstractions, poignancies. She supplies her author security, certainly. But I just write, nothing like what she does, actually bringing visualized visuals to visualization. And selling them. Why can’t I do that, be so FREE?
Need another glass. Exhausted from day. That $1 bill, in kitchen, on table. Stuffing it into wallet, knowing I’ll post it someday on a wall, in my office. I’ll walk in, with my morning mocha [lately a quad], just look at it, listening to Thievery, scribbling a bit in that black & white Comp Book.
The Malbec, holding up well since last night. The smoke, a little more pronounced. A little more silkiness to presentation of fruit, which is all dark– blackberry, cherry, boysenberry. And finish, no loss. So many times, with wines of this caliber, the sips fly at senses more favorably. A little after ten, watching today’s video again. Need to wrap up this typing to get to ACTUAL writing. Imprecating truth, what’s on my mind, as I hope I’m always perpetuating. These papers, need their grades. Taking them with me again, tomorrow. Should be warm again. Know I’ll be tempted to take pictures, or write, but I have to get them out of sight, mind. Imagine, I tell Self, “what if all you had to do before class Tuesday was write, finish your book?” That’s what I want. So.. if I don’t taste the barrels in A.M., it can’t be done at lunch. Nothing done at lunch. Not even writing. I’m grading. […] Tired. Need to finish this wine, start writing. Want 2 C INK–