9, left close to 7. Came home and was in dad mode. Now, quiet after going up to Jack’s room, being summoned actually, and him ordering that all the stuffed animals on his bed be relocated tot he basket in the closet. “They’re not comfy, though,” he specified, then handing the first three to me, signaling I need get to work. In the family room with my ambient light setting, Alice falling asleep upstairs after feeding Emma, I’m sure. The day provided just what I wished it to; more dialogue, more books, more assurance that I’m headed in a map setting I see for myself. The travel, the writings, posts, all all with simplicity. Many of these other bloggers have too many irons a-smolder. Why? Why not embrace singularity? I know diversification is essentially ‘Business 101’, but that doesn’t make it sacrosanct. This is the day’s toll talking, believe me, not the ’14 PR Zin I’m sipping, and slow. HAVE to wake at 4. This morning, driving to Dutcher I had that thought again, which I hate: “Okay, tonight, I’ll go to bed early, wake early, I’ll have another shot tomorrow.” FUCK. I hate that. 4AM needs to be my religion (aside from the writing).
On my walk through the vineyard today, at “lunch”, if you could nod it so, I saw vineyards self-pollinating, or evidence they were in pollination. Translation to writing, my writing, obvious. Do everything yourself. No ‘VC’ money, and if I ever do receive any funding for my blog/business saunters it’ll be on terms I myself write. MY model, though, is minimalist; minimal funding, maximum work, minimized stress and areas of address while maximizing fruit (like a vine). My dogmatism in these sight are fortified, fixed, firmly rooted.
Think I just heard rain. Musically quixotic summation to the writer’s day. This morning with the pouring on 101 to Geyserville, I knew I’d get the material I needed, need, for my books, this blog, my furthered consideration of Humanity, my, what we want.