Can’t help it. Just the way I am. Just had night cap and now I feel like decaf. No sweets ton pair with, just decaf. Tomorrow I’m going to make a full and loud project of work– day in the winery/wine country/ wined life, life. Everything from pulling up– no start before that– Driving in Dry Creek Road, kind of looking out at the vineyards as I cruise behind some fucking farming truck, but I have to stay focused as I’m riding him pretty close, running late. Then, I pull in. Tomorrow I’ll be in the office, doing some copywriting and other print material, then some other acts. I can already see myself missing the tasting room. Not sure if that’s irony, or paradox, or contradictory, or what. But anyway, tomorrow will be for all these tourists and visitors that come to wine country and comment on what we do, like “Oh my god, you have the best job ever.”, or “I think I need to do something like this.”, thinking all we do is drink on the job all day and talk with each other and add songs to our Spotify playlist. I love what I do at Dutcher, and I have NEVER been happier at a winery, but there is certainly some fantasy and ignorance when it comes to what we do on property. So being a teacher, I’ll educate. Ever a tad. And through visual, through this blog— video and still, words of course, and a bit of noting.
Still tired from the 11 miles, but I have to be writing, not sure what it is today, but I need to push Self closer to Road. I’ll take an hour tomorrow for lunch to make progress with… with….. what. The exhaustion’s creeping, and I sip decaf, have a couple of these cookies to wind down. What am I doing? What if I just slammed a cup of that REAL French Roast, stayed up all night and wrote like a REAL madman.
Alice messages me from upstairs, says Emma is moaning in her sleep, from this cold she has, that it breaks Alice’s heart. Mine, too. After this entry, no research, no email, nothing but upstairs to be with Em and Ms. Alice.
Something else I can in no way help is taking pictures, wherever I am. This one I shot of the barrel room, doors at the other end open with sun shining through those thick plastic drapes, made me think of transition, moving onto something else heavenly, dream-like, something you always saw yourself having but always thought something like, and in the back-back of your thinking: “This is my dream, a dream…”. Insinuating you doubted yourself to some degree, but there you see that beaming effulgence, something more than light, but a blinding call. All the barrels being forklifted out and through those long thing vertical sheets, or flimsy shutters, whatever they are. What I saw stopped me, and I had to capture it. And this was days ago, now I reconcile my visions, interpretations. Illuminated, clarity and a certain cogency about my cognition. It way a cure or any and every thing, or matter, or problem, or latency.
(6/15/16)