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Today there are things that just MUST be done.. website launch, the vvv project, and business cards.  Going to save all grading for tomorrow morning before classes, and same with Tuesday.. Tuesday I get back into running.. working out.  Been doing pushups lately as some attempt at fitness.  Since the ‘half’ a few weeks ago, I’ve all but stopped working out, and it feels horrendous.  But today a change in the writer’s ways.  Sipping coffee watching Jackie play with his cars, usual pattern but what’s different aside from the weather is my focus.. it’s intensified and more curious.  Today I need tangible results.  The site (even if a splash page), the vvv blog project (the wine startup I’ve been mentioning, and business card– which I could start now but I’m too much enjoying my freewriting, which too is becoming like running with me, more scarce and that frightens me but I’ll never leave where I’m from and that’s the Literary world from writing the stories and relaying my observations like Kerouac and Wolfe — my stories irregular as life is and ever-energetic like wine itself and its world, with a certain “olfactory momentum” (quote from me from yesterday) in this coffee I become oddly relaxed and thinking of my days at SSU, going to classes in Stevenson, Nichols, even Ives, or Carlson (think it’s dubbed)– being a student, I want that again.  No real aim to be an expert in anything, or to master anything I more so want to remain a student of Literature and of wine, winemaking, and blend everything– this great consolidation is about discovery and humility on so many curvatures, Truths in suffering but as well as joy and enlightening, Zen of everything around me in some jazzy syncopation, I record it and bob my head to it, hear it when I walk the dormant vineyards.  Stories and stories, where the grapes are brought to their crush and those scents and airborne notes invade perception, doors open and closed…

Lost in my thinking this morning but that can only be a positive, the writer thinks, or forces himself to think.  Mid-month, and I do that countdown, or counting of days till the term ends and until my daughter’s here, what I want her to see in me when she arrives into our world.  The writer the writer THE WRITER– and singing to her through my short stories and poems I write in the waiting room while waiting for her, or just keeping in my head while waiting for her.  She and little Kerouac will greet people as they walk into the tasting room, and become familiar with wine, seeing their auntie Katie come around to check levels with me and make sure I’m not leading any varietal to cliff’s edge.  Funneling all these efforts in the consolidation to the winery.. and me self-publishing my notes and stories just as I do the wine..

He’ll open the barrel, pulling the stopper slowly.  He’ll see it’s low.  Taste first, then top.  “Do I hit it? [with sulfur]” he’ll think.  “No.. leave it alone.”