A glass of wine, quiet in the

img_3276A-Walk Studio, before the final day of instruction.  Been in this position I don’t know how many times, and I want tomorrow to be different.  But how— thinking link the two last meetings, tomorrow, and day of final.  An elevated argument, or Exchange of Ideas.  On what.  I’ll have to decide in the next few hours.  no nap tomorrow, but a run, my friend Cass at the winery telling me he woke this morning at 4-something to run a couple miles and then have an additional workout.  And what did I do when I woke at 4?  Go the fuck back to sleep.  Revolting.  What I just sipped was my last glass, and now to wind down.  10:28.. going to document the whole day tomorrow on video, then write about it, then video a bit more, then write.  Record EVERYTHING.  Funny today, the winery owner laughing to herself at the prospect of having a bunch of blog posts bound and able to sell it, “I’m excited ‘cause I’ll have something’ to sell,” she said.  Why can’t I have that attitude?  If I did, be more a sales goon, I’d have my vacation home in Montana, be back and forth de ma ville de Paris…  I have so much writing on this laptop, the other one, in my file cabinets and boxes.  Why not fucking sell them?—  Left my coffee tumbler at the winery.  Goddamnit fuck.  Luckily, I found another, I think left by the mother-in-law.  And, more sizeable, more coffee, which means more writing.  More to SELL!

The glass of wine, no wine.  Just a glass.  But it can be again filled.  But won’t be.  I have more than a mission tomorrow but a continuation of a primes and promising oddity.  It’s all odd, all of the ‘awks’.  Into tomorrow the mayfairing manuscript-ist goes.  Still warm outside.  Maybe one more glass on the patio.  Just one.