Thinking and re-thinking all, after certain events today. Crazy. Completely. One of the more maniacal I’ve had since working at Estate. Sipping the same blend I did last night. Just back from Mom and Dad’s. family BBQ. Forgive me, I’m a bit wobbly from the night’s wine. Not even sure what to write about. Was stuck in tasting Room for most of day. But in that, such confusion, so many compositions. I hate feeling like this.. immobilized by wine, somewhat even. This is why I say, state, AFFIRM: winemakers could never be Artists like us. As what they “produce” curves the mental, detracts from discernment. Those surveying their work are impaired, or could be, from precisely what they’re encountering. WE write, and read.. no chemical incongruence. What they erect, affects the observer’s state, ability to even appreciate. So how could their critics ever be taken seriously? How much have they sipped before submitting their scores? Shouldn’t be writing right now, I know. Should just enjoy night.. why do I alwayz have2WRITE?
Took brix n temp today, with Blair. AND, finally tasted my wines. Both tasted incredible, especially my Merlot. Thinking of Poe.. but I want to enjoy my night. Writerz can do that, right? One more sip set, then time2bed.
9/2/13– Alarming, this year’s pace. Today, running from work. OH– should probably charge that device. DONE. Now just a couple minutes to Self to sentence-mend. Not in mood for more people, especially after the bizarre nature of yesterday. Going to need 4shot mocha this morning, to be sure dear reader.
Made coffee here in house, going downstairs for another cup. Need to be prepared for potential wave headed tasting Room’s way. This desk, looking more clear by the day. MY sittings, definitely not as stressful. Therapy.. therapy… That’s what this writing’s supposed to do. So why does the writer stress so much? Good question. OR one entirely foolish.
With 2nd coffee, or café mocha with me now, I can re-launch. Today’s run, hopefully my best ever on the Lawndale journey. And then I hit a block. Should get in shower, be responsible, as that’s what adults do, right? What if I’m not in the mood? What if I just don’t feel like being an “adult” today, or “responsible.” What if I just want to be an ARTIST.
Tomorrow, beginning week3 of classes. If I manage to somehow get up early, I can get all the planning done in early morrow, prepare notes for discussion, then write rest of day. Speaking of.. still haven’t assembled rest of 41-page piece. And I really need to, as these small publications, their rapid succession, will be the epitome of my “brand.” Yes.. now there’s more piece about the writer. Just put in a 1,007 word piece. Two pages closer to goal.
Should get in shower. Get time.5 today, from holiday. CHALLEGE2SELF: Write flash fiction piece at work, in little pages. Page limit [in little notebook].. 10.
Off I go. Let the day treat you well… In both Art AND Life. (8:20am)
8:54pm. After a tomato & basil pasta prepared by Ms. Alice, completely surprising the writer, I sip my final Chardonnay glass. It’s a ’12, form the Estate. Single vineyard, French oak, 9 months, about 30% new [oak]. Back in class tomorrow. Will be returning to book idea/endeavor in the morning. Accidentally took home one of the work keys. Will rush there in early morrow, to return. Then, to writing. Will run from work tomorrow night. Was going to this eve, but felt tired, from last night’s vino, and day’s shift. My structure, warning me at 5pm not to challenge Lawndale.
Began flash piece in little pages, as I planned. But no 10 mini-pages. No matter. What’s relevant, I started.
Decaf, after this glass last. Have to post to pedagogy blog, respond to student comments. Tomorrow, truly beginning my mission for semester.. this Literary community, to empower the student. First sip from glass final, making me think of the overnights I’ll have while on Road, traveling, writing about all I’m capturing. Newness on Road… How do I bring about Newness, now? Acting out of character. Acting NEW. Tomorrow, wake at 5:15am. Not to run, but to write. No word goal, or page aim. Just to write. Word therapy. Sentence-mended.
The new coffee Mom and Dad bought me, truly an escape, reminding me of Paris. My city and I WILL be back together. Soon. For the writing. Taking Kelly with me, my chatty manuscript. […] Not letting Self get distracted. Going to write till I reach 1k for day. But I need subject. Am I[!!!] not a subject.. a suspect?
Tasting Room, not as aggravating as yester’. Thank the Craft. Wasn’t in any condition to encounter the level of weirdness I yesterday met. I don’t know what it was.. just everything was OFF, peculiarly slanted. Not my co-workers, just the Room’s element, among the guests, especially. In the mood suddenly [hate that word] for one of the café mocha cups. Soon as I’m done with the Chard. Can’t waste wine. Isn’t that a sin?
This Chardonnay, making itself visible in my habit. Will soon severely suppress it with caffeine. Paris, my city, again singing. How do I create profitable pages here in this kitchen nook, with all this domesticity evidence around me? Just asking… Need the Road. What I write there will buy me the office.
Starting to see this blog differently, honestly. There’s value here. It’s writing. I’ve written what you’re reading. This IS a book. So why do I have a separate project? I think in the last bottledaux document, on this monster laptop, I had over 300 pages. Maybe even 400. So…
What would Poe do? He’d simplify. He’d Literarily, and LITERALLY, kill what held him back. What I do this evening. Wine, for one.. slowing me. Like last night. Would have written more after Mom & Dad visit, but there was too much fermented within scribe’s center.
Coffee in brew. Will sip slow, as I don’t want any internal skirmish between the Burgundy and caffeine’s all-too-known bravado. Ready for week3. More than ready. Going to escalate my intensity with lessons, how I address text, Authors. Faulkner, a bit challenging, I’ll gladly confess. But I’ll only allow it to serve as garnishing impetus. This week, I want more written statement, proclamation from students. Walking over to coffee machine, to retrieve me energy.
First sip, more in Writer’s mode. The wine, only slowing me. And more, the older I stand. Maybe I will run, when alarm alarms. Why not? The 7-mile climb, 6 days away. Want 3 exceptional dashes, sprint sets before then. The Newness I seek, am going to force into fruition, will take me There, where I’ll be.. Finish Line. This café mocha, put the poet in Paris. Right there, by Hotel, in that courtyard.
Not letting Self go over 1k. And I’m close. Words final.. Literature… Exploration, curiosity pursuit, Equilibrium; coffee, Paris [my nearing return]. Just brewed cup2. Decaf. Smells better, more abstemious in presentation.. allure.
Sip coffee, hoping
a random cloud’ll