Persona Pavilion

9:08pm.. My mood, fanged, like that baby rattlesnake on the mountain the other day.  “It’s your life, you have your choice,” Grandma said, her eyebrows raised, conveying I need to listen.  Not living my life imprisoned, indentured.  Seeing clear tonight, with this sparkling lemon water.  And after this, a late coffee serving.  I’m writing my way out of this staleness.  Pictures of my sister, on her “business trip,” only motivating me.  Tonight, everything annoying me.  I’m a writer, my kind of writer, only 1, to B expected.  Changes needed.. none of which I’m “posting” on this blithering blog.  What I need, freedom.  In so many shapes.  In too foul a mood to even write, currently.  Hate feeling like this.. this isn’t Literary, not Wine, nothing marketable.

Asking Self, “Why can’t I be in Bordeaux, like Katie, somewhere on Road, like my other winemaker friends?” This is Self-pitying, also of not Literary tender.. or IS it?  Good that I’m not having wine tonight.. needing a clear head.  Need not a drop of emotion tonight, only logic, as I tell students.  Coffee sounds so amazing right now.. out of character, so that’ll do something, I’m hoping.  Hopefully, I’m HOPING, get me to the Road, where material will final plate itSelf for the writer.  Not looking to ‘get away’, just get away to WRITE.. see what I haven’t seen, write about it.  Isn’t that Art, the new experience.. the newness itSelf?

This mood, not leaving.  Must have something to do with day, that one mountaintop tour I did, with that young couple from Manhattan, so stuck on themselves, what they did– he, engineer; she, interior designer.  Not sure what there is, was, to be stuck on.  I remember thinking how I couldn’t wait for the tour to be over, to be back in the tasting Room.  And them, GONE.

I shouldn’t be writing right now.  And if you’re still reading, reader, then bless you.  This is not who I am, this disposition.  I’ll change–I mean FIX–this, I promise.  I’m 34.  Grandma’s gone, Time’s in its fiercest attack to date.  So I’ll act.  Think, think.. I keep telling mySelf, “calm, calm, no emotion, only logic.” So what do I do?  Maybe I should just think, not write.  But that’s not what writers do.  They write.  Glad I’m not sipping wine right now.. I need to be quick, quicker than I’ve ever been.  Deliberate internally regarding all moves.  Best way to advance on this game board.

Thinking of Grandma, in that hospital bed, only day’s from her life’s close, telling me I’m in control of my choices in Life.  That’s what I need to remember, 2Self repeat.  Getting tired.. time for that late night coffee.  What I want, or hope readers take from entries like this: to push through Life’s storms, elemental/situational attacks.  My way, writing through.  Yours, anything from working out, to walking, to going for a drive, to cooking, cleaning– just refuse surrender, or compromise, or settling.

Decided against coffee.  Sticking to the sparkling water.  Tomorrow, running.  No fail.  Planning on 8+.  But who knows if I’ll hit that.  Dad had a recommendation, focus more on the time, not the distance.  He suggested going out to just enjoy the run.  So that’s what I’ll do.  Not simply because Dad told me, more so from me seeing that as something NEW to try with my sprintings.  And for the writing.  Need all the newness I can find.

Mood, still very much with me.  Not in mood to edit.  I’ll do so quick, so I can kill this page, enjoy my sparkling water, think about my choices.