Nearing lunch. Not sure if I’m in a writing mood, from how busy it’s been. But I was able to capture some valuable stills on the crush pad, with tons of grapes landing today. Hot outside, possibly too hot for walking so I may just come back to this desk, share my boredom with you. Lucky you! But I’m not bored, not at all, not with all that’s around me unfolding and developing. Through head, a ceaseless to-do list. Not even a list anymore, more like a stomping dinosauric docket for me to catch, catch up on. How will I do that? Simplify, everything made more simple.
Words for lunch. I’ve decreed. If I’m at the desk it could be perceived I’m available. Maybe I should just wait till day’s end, no writing now, just let it all compile and collect. How I get to evenness. Back from a bathroom walk and I was tempted to go out onto the crush pad and photograph fruit in the bins, cold soaking in the sun, maybe take some video of the guys raking fruit into the crusher/de-stemmer, but I walked away. Out of character for me. This writing and tireless father need act more outside pattern, if I sense I’m about to do something I always do then don’t do it.
Clocked out for lunch, but the writing father’s staying put. Right here at desk. Not speaking to anyone, and not to be rude! But rather to immerse the writing father in his words, in his work. Not budging from my thesis of working harder than I think I can, get more done than I did the day prior. How I spend the lunch, soused in my sentences. Too hot outside for a vineyard walk. One after work, though. Have to do one a day, at least. Ultimate and encompassing freedom demands I seek nothing new. I have all I need for my idyllic, right here, in my story.
Okay… So the idea yesterday, that I mentioned here on bottledaux, was selling real estate. I know, I’m laughing too. Why that picture and possibility if you could call it that leapt into my perception is far beyond my current reasoning, at this desk. “So what…” you say. What do you mean ‘so what’… It’s gone, now. Selling real estate? No. I’m holding with my goals. Staring out the window in front of my as I so many times do throughout the day, only antagonizes my dreaming, day or night dreaming really doesn’t matter— Could use a glass of Chardonnay or anything right now. Lunch, huh. Not for this writing father. Tomorrow on campus, then day next back here at the desk.
Say you’re more cursed than lucky if you’re still reading. But, the working father, or mother, any parent knows what this is, only wanting to do to provide all and more for your children and your family’s entirety but you can’t think nor act fast enough. You’d do anything, you’d work any amount of hours. You refuse to slow, and your certainly won’t stop. So what else to do but keep moving, keep processing the ideas like grapes on a crush pad. Who knows what results. Maybe something blissful, something unusually piquant. Maybe the next time you sit at your desk you’ll be a different You.