After going back to sleep for an hour or so, I’m nearly ready to write.  Only a couple sips of home coffee.  8:29am, looking forward to closing the semester, getting closer to Fall.  Little Kerouac circles this area with that blue bouncy ball we bought him for Christmas.  No exaggeration, he appears faster in all movements than yesterday.  Just sprinted over to him in kitchen, not knowing what he was getting into.  Now, he’s seated on ground at my 12, reading through one his home library’s books.

Need a couple more sips, as I’m not waking nearly as quick as I’d like.  Bringing 8 pages with me to coffee house, or adjunct office, wherever I decide to work.  In the mood for characters, those off and odd moments where someone sits next to me.  Shouldn’t have left so quick when that man did, that one day.  Should have embraced the uniqueness, strangeness of the moment.. how uncomfortable it was.  Could have “channeled” it somehow.  Put that word in quotes as I’m horribly unfond of it, as one of the idiot managers at the box always used to say, “You have to channel whatever you’re feeling into sales.” What a convenient perspective.  For them.  All the money we made them.

Been following an author, her work, her appearances.  I’m not that into her style of writing, thinking, her lecture style, subject matter, but she has a couple really interesting ideas.  While Alice is away, at gym, I’ll try to do a little more research on this woman, find out why I find her work, some of it, so engaging.  OH, and an author for Fall, for supporting articles (Engl 5): Michael Foucault.  Just pulled up an article from the online SEP [Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, a cite/source I absolutely adore], learning he was one of the first victims of AIDS.  AND, that he had intense focus on history-rooted thinking.  I’ll try to revisit this article later, when Kerouac isn’t scurrying about the house like an overexcited cub.

Stomach, a little curved from last night’s dinner.  And this has before occurred, from Mary’s on Summerfield.  Not going to complain, not going to demand any kind of refund or compensation.. what would that get me, a free meal voucher?  So I can feel sick for free?  No thanks.  As Dad has always said: “Vote with your dollars.” Speaking of currency notes, I’m dumping all the stashed notes upstairs, in that infamous little container of old pages, into bank, and eventually Schwab.  Want this money to do something for me, for us.  Not just sit.

These songs, playing through phone, have me thinking of travel.  Sitting in a terminal somewhere, listening to these tracks by earphone, watching characters pass, recording each 1.  Can’t wait for that portion of my writing expeditions.. the airport.  What a well of material.. much more rich than any of these wineries.

2nd cup.  Feeling much better.  Curiously relaxed.  Like I’m on vacation.  Will be this summer, not having to teach.  Something has to be completed over the sabbatical’d summer.

11:49am.  Back from check deposit.  Beautiful outside.  And I’ve decided.. the stash upstairs will be racked into Schwab1 acct.  And from racking, I was looking into redox potential, volatile sulfur compounds, and mercaptans the other day, and a little this morning.. still so much to learn about winemaking, how exactly to MAKE wine, something someone would enjoy drinking.  Proud of my little sister for making a career out of it, now it’s my turn to throw in hands.

Jackie just went down.  So now it’s a countdown to departure.  Want to do more research on fermentation problems, stalls, what else to do if certain halts present themselves during primary, ML, aging.  Debating on where to make wine, this vintage.  The winery, with Katie, by mySelf.. stresses me, thinking about it.  Not sure why.  Going to other sites to find anything I can on making wine.. any factoids, do’s-and-don’t’s, stories.. anything.  Making my own wine, what I want it to do–  What DO I want it 2do?  Well, first, taste good.  No, taste amazing.  Know that can’t happen with every vintage, but I’ll produce as many Self-novelizing bottles as I can.  Off to research, search for information…

Looking into bacteria, spoilage in wines, on the site my friend Chris turned introduced me to.  The chemistry, biology, other scientific intricacies is where I struggle most.  Have to conquer that hardship, teach Self wine-related biology, I guess.  Bacteria’s resistance to certain alc % levels.. interesting.  Just going to look around this site, well as others.  Copper additions.. Copper Sulfate pentahydrate.  CuSO4 * 5H2O — sorry, reader.  Just logging what I find.  Need to have a discussion with Katie, as to where I should begin teaching mySelf this chem/bio.  Or should I take a class?  Are the oeno classes helpful?  Let me look…

What if this blog is changing shape a bit?  Perhaps refocusing on wine, research there in, of.  True Self-education.  But in a Literary fashion.  I don’t want to “change shape,” though.  I like what it’s done for me, how it’s assumed its own collectively individualized character.  But, I will be sharing more of my findings– “more?” I haven’t shared anything like above, before.  Show readers how you can do whatever you want ON YOUR OWN.  I can’t afford Davis, and frankly I don’t want to be subjected to some “expert,” his teachings, views on wine.  Wine is Art, consequently very personal.

Quiet in house, as both Alice and Jack enjoy their separate snoozes.  No wine tonight, but I will be doing a little research on varietals of my focus: SB, Syrah, Merlot, Cabernet.  My new issue of WineMaker Magazine arrived the other day.  Reading it cover2cover.  And the budgeting portion.. need to figure that out, from meeting with Katie, when she comes back from her grueling business trip to Hawaii [yes, sarcasm].

3:25pm.  12 & Mission.  Man directly behind me, at one of these larger square tables, with woman caring for him.  He’s a bit old, not moving at all fast, seemingly confused by all around him.  Someone far behind me, sliding obnoxiously one of these chairs, from one spot to another– seems like it’s taking forever.  Anxious, in all parts of mine frame.  I know, the 3shot mocha probably won’t help, but it sounded good.  Watching people order, eagerly hand their money to the corporation’s wallet and discipline death squad.  No grading, nor planning, as tonight most may not even come to the 1-on-1’s I’m offering, before Thursday’s finale of a rough draft workshop.  It’ll be interesting to see how many come prepared to that meeting, especially in 302.

Everyone in here, on a laptop.  Any writers, competition?  Forgot my power cord at home, intentionally.  When the power’s out on this devilish habiliment, I’m resigning to Comp Book.  Should be scribbling in it NOW.  And, I’m over 1,000 words for day, in this post.  And I’m not really supposed to surpass 500, as of new decree.  Now watching one of the employees belabor over sign in front of register; some special pen, specified surface.  Pen, surface.. with this device, only fingertips, buttons, screen.  NOW, someone behind me coughing jurassically loud.  Think I’m giving up again.  This isn’t the proper space for a writer.  At least not the one I’m becoming as I age.

The older man leaves.  It was him.  Couldn’t judge distance with this music into my ears, close-range.  Starting to calm, ironically, with all this new caffeine.  Thinking I need to finally start reading these 8 intro pages.  Want to, but am afraid–  WHY?  Just do it, writer!  Need to edit everything as soon as I finish, like with this blog.  WAIT– that’s a key.  Why didn’t I do that before?  Taking them from bag, these ushering 8.  Clock out.

Now, young children at table behind me.  3 of them.  Interesting.  Time reversal…