Wrote my writer friend. Been up since just before six, and now the clock reads 6:16AM. I usually find myself in inner tussle with what to put on blog and what to put in a book. But that’s over after a thought I had AS SOON as I woke: the only intended audience of this book is me, the writer, this is the only journal I share, and I don’t care how many read or “like” it on some social media forum. Who cares. Any and all of this will see binding, sooner rather than later.
Two days till Summer term launches. Bring it on, I say, all the questions, challenges. This will be the semester that gets me away from the clock, from that goddamn device that reads my right forefinger like I’m going to be exposed to some top-secret science of catalogue of discovery. It’s so funny to me, that clock, far too serious for what we do there. It’s a winery– admitted: a BEAUTIFUL winery, set of grounds. But, just a winery. IT should be fun, lightly intentioned and controlled. What should be stressed is that ‘fun factor’, not policy and pattern, the scheduled and set. Yes, I get it.. it’s a business and that’s begged, a certain flow, but the employees, most of them, are altogether capable and well-witted enough. Certain ingredients and stirs, plainly, are just unnecessary.
Coffee sounds.. amazing, like a reassuring ocean meant to ride.
8:13AM. Confession: I went back to sleep. Had to. Now I’m awake and readying for work with loads of coffee. Have a vineyard tour at either 10:30 or 11, or 11:30AM. Hoping to sell wine, pretending it’s mine, and pocketing gratuity for publishing.
Didn’t pocket as much as I wanted, but so what. I don’t want to depend on tips. Ever. Again. Father’s Day tomorrow, my third. Can’t believe I’m where I am. We all went out for beers and glasses of wine at Palooza today, following shift. Nice to have everyone together, chatting about whatever they want. That’s what wine’s supposed to do. Thinking of my little Artist, and how he has, already, favorite books, ones we read to him, both Alice and I. He shows more revolution than any wheel attached to machine. His curiosity should be studied.. namely by ME, his own father.
With night’s cap, this Lagunitas Ale. Still observing everything around me, and thinking of where I should be at certain stages. When I’m in my late 60s, if I’m still alive, which I highly doubt, I don’t want to be a tasting room manager– but rather be in my father’s spot, traveling with my wife, experiencing the world outside the work wheel, actually living. I truly pity any character in their late fifties, early sixties, that wishes they could give their two-weeks. I can’t tell you how deplorable I measure that must feel. But I’m relaxed this night, after dinner with Alice. Now to my verses.. Kerouac in my where, no lack…