Giving myself 27 or so minutes

up here in the loft, and I need to work quick. No one her in pub, it’s still closed for the cleaning or re-do or re-arrangement. Jeff just showed me the kitchen and all the changes and it looks amazing, has me thinking about a wine bar again, one of my own, just getting further into the wine dimension and on my own tempo, so I can do what I want with wine, not what’s expected or what you’d think one’s supposed to do. I want to do just the opposite. Hear them in the kitchen, moving stuff around, Jeff offered me a beer and I … Acknowledging and appreciating the quiet of this space, the loft, my space, brought him 3 bottles for “rent”, one Cab, Zin, and one of the stainless SB’s we do. And now I’m stuck, I can’t think of anything, anything singular to write or ideologically explore.. just focus on my stage and surroundings, my space up here. Table left, someone’s key set and a deck [cards], then “Don’t Break the Ice”, one of those games you play when you have company over. Wrote a poem in the TR, and just how I said I would with fragments and singular words. But I don’t have time to type it now, but I could read it if I had to, from the small pages of the book, my little noting pages. More standalones from me, needed, to fill this list, but I have all those writings in that box, in this very laptop.. see? I need to be free, away from the winery and out of the business in my own office so I have the time to do so. My wife, being the supportive queen she is would let me stay the night in my office, and I’d be aloft on my coffee high going through old writings and typing and arranging I don’t know how many books. I could start in a space like this, on my lunch breaks, then those lunch breaks would turn into 8+ hour days when I leave. And I don’t need an assistant, what for? I hear that some “famous” writers have assistants to type their work the next day. What the fuck? I thought, imaging the assistant struggling with certain words and markings and scribbles. A writer shouldn’t let another anything–assistant, family member, lover or friend–touch their pieces, ever. “There’s a salad, there’s a salad, there’s a salad,” I just heard Jeff say. Now he speaks about flatbreads and strategy, placement in his place, his restaurant. I can’t help my infatuation and involvement in this space. Why? Not just ‘cause of the loft, right here where I’m permitted to write when it’s closed, but so much else that I don’t know how to now catalogue. Think I might need another as my typing excellerates, swirls in bizarre cubist and beaten boldness.
Semester staring soon, soon, and I’m ready, more than I thought I was, and this sitting confirms my mentality. So… First thing, the question, “Why are you here?” This will transition into a challenge of why the system or school says they have to be there. What do they want, the students?– Jeff just told me he’s leaving and that Billy, one of the cooks will let me out. See? That’s what I mean about Jeff and this place.. there’s trust, there’s love, it’s family, what the wine world should be and should practice but isn’t, doesn’t. Makes me sick. 14 minutes left, about, and I breathe, relax, envision the run Sunday, Alice finding someone to stay over and watch the little Artist. I’ll run tonight and not aim for any time, just run. Last session, Monday, I wanted 6.2, and I reached it, but not tonight, just a solid 5 miles and that’s it. I want to enjoy my music, my stepping, and my time to Self. Hear Billy chopping something, I think that’s what he’s doing, not sure. Don’t want to go back, just want to stay here and brainstorm over the new semester– funny, it’s like Fall 14’s a bad dream, like it never happened. It’s over and I can’t accept that, odd, but I refocus on the loft, the table left, and my empty glass. Several empty wine glass on the bar, right, what for? Event? They may have had a poker night or something recently, as I see one of those chip holder on the table, right, and some cards on one of the poker tables. 10 minutes now, should go, get back early, don’t want to hit a thousand words, and I should put something on blog anyway now, just when I have time– dangerous how relaxed I am, how calm, how centered, how part of this setting I’ve become. What would they do if I didn’t go back? Ha ha.. part of the bold mood I felt this morning from the overflow lot. Think I hear the wind outside, is that what that is? Odd day, but I came here, I did, I wasn’t distract by thoughts of having lunch with Nate or doing anything else like picking up some bottles at St. Francis as I was thinking of earlier, just after the useless morning meeting. I made it here, to my spot, my space, my office.. times will soon alter this, this semester, just watch, and so many will be surprised that I actually did it, that I changed and re-wrote my reality, my Personhood.