Monday morning and I’m very much multitasking you could say, trying to “launch” website for mmc and email a client, and think in my head what I have to do for classes. Luckily, only 9:30, so I have a bit of time, but I need to work faster than fast, efficient or crazy I don’t know what the right term would be. But I’m working this morning, reader, just so you know… Ugh, very much multitasking, drinking coffee and circling in my ideas. How to make more money and how to diversify my business model as a writer and blogger and wine-selling.. or crEATive wine selling character– more charisma and the assurance that no one can do what I can, no one can work as hard as I do doing this, this wine life, all written and all recorded– I have 2 babies and a wife that depend on my pages, on me, and this morning I woke looking at the clock and saw 7:03, I believe. I felt disgusted with myself, lazy and worthless, not at all like a professional writer. So it stops and I change on a dime right now here in this home office and with this very cup of coffee. Was tempted to go to Starbucks but I need take full mammoth advantage of this morning, and all it affords.
So I calm, or try, try to write more cleanly with more pristine sentence rhythm and self-coercion… put something on new blog, need more coffee– and what to do in class today, what to do when my head is nowhere near that campus and the abysmal pay they offer us adjuncts. I feel so horribly for the other adjuncts, and some full-timers I hear complaining around the halls that have no other option than to be a bloody teacher. I will say I’m quite gracious to whatever cosmic compositions me encircle for my options, for wine and its story and for mornings like this and this coffee, my family and my story as a Wild Wine Writer.
The day seems bright and beaming with composition, bullion in sentences and characters, character studies (which includes myself, my steps on and off campus).. just have to wait for the semester to be done, till Emma’s here, till all’s more settled. Have to email new ideas to Glenn, see what he thinks. So much going on this morning.. you should see me in here… Things settling, I think.. talking to some product expert by way of internet chat. Annoying that I have to interact with tech as much as I do but as a blogger I supposed I’m being an avalanche of unrealistic thinking I can dodge tech and the internet too much, right? But maybe that’s part of my brand’s appeal, me as a writer, that I hate tech and the internet (maybe not hate), but I hold to my writing values and use what I dislike in my own convenient capacity, something like that. I’m rambling, I know.. thinking of the SB I had last night and the reds I tasted in the Sanglier tasting room, especially that Boar’s Camp blend. Have never considered myself that much of a Rhône nut, but this label has made me assuredly a curious and more exploratory figure about the varietal region, and the stylistic ebb of Rhônes. Interesting, and I still see myself the studying student especially with the time I spend with Glenn be it in the TR or at the crush pad. Allowing myself to be fully enveloped by wine, wine’s narrative fire and musical moldings– The writer now sees more of his day, after class, coming home with Jackie and enjoying some simple snack, maybe going to the store before home and me watching him from the patio, laughing at his chasing of friends and how he hits the wiffle ball with one arm, always left. Then he chases, repeats, “Watch, Daddy!” he yells from across the street.
Time for another cup of this medium Roast, more jazz and more time for me, my elucidated peace, synonymous with find Self and the Equilibrium I’ve been after since, well.. forever.. since my first hated job at the local grocery store in Belmont. I have to forget about all past trial and falls and move more venomously, crEATively forward in my pages and story, relationship with wine. And the aim to wake at 5, like Glenn or any other farmer or any Artist serious about their craft. And if I’m to one day be a winemaker then I need to be up earlier. Why is this such a struggle for me, really? Examining it, I can only conclude laziness to some extent but as well going to bed too late. A writer, or any penner word reading, exhibits more militancy with his sleep patterns, and doesn’t fret with a lack of sleep but rather embraces it as an advantageously altered consciousness codification, causing him to see differently and throw his rhythm to page with more crazed and musical innovation–
What I want to “teach” today? Don’t know.. I want to make the sessions something I’d enjoy.. if I’m a student in my own class, I want to enjoy myself, enjoy the discussions and my own writing.. so how to begin.. Go completely offbook. So, no Wolff. Then what? Blend you ideas, winemaker-slash-writer.. writing, poetry, odd words.. like ‘kalology’.. what beauty is in literature (and wine, outside of class).. something that elevates the soul, as Poe said.. get theoretical, get abstract, go outside the box, and barrel, and book– hmm.. now I start to bubble in cogitation crEATively and fly away to some other story in my character.. just on my own stage and learning. This is all oneiric, I feel, or maybe more tangible than I acknowledge– need time to think about this one, piano riffs all about this room and me in this swiveling chair, realizing I’ve reached a thousand words but I have no want to halt, or stop like some dog ordered to. Winemakers, in their caves or barrel rooms, don’t leave till they’re satisfied with their progress. Wouldn’t say I’m mawkish with my work this morning, by any means, just not fulfilled in the way I wish.. so what do I wish for, right? Isn’t that the next logical inquiry? I don’t know. I want to be walking a vineyard. I want to be at the crush pad. I want rain. I want this semester to be over–
I want my daughter.
I want to sip wine in Paris, again–
I want the Road–
I want to know what my latest character study does, where she is and what book’s pages she turns.
There’s too much to my ever elongated wishlist. And I feel it hopeless to steer or too much contain. So….. I stop the session, I walk away and back to my home coffee machine for another cup.