sick of fucking stalling. I’m teaching myself French. I will be fluent by my 38th (yuck) birthday. Donc, ici je vais… (So, here I go…) At least one sentence a day. Could do the whole ‘one word a day’ approach, but that’s not enough, not if I’m to be fluent by 5/29/17.
Need that glass of wine. 16 minutes.. goddamnit. Need the wine NOW. Just received a shipment, 2 bottles of wine I’m to write about. I realized opening the box, “It’s definitely wine for me.” Wine in everything I do. Even when I work out, when I run, I do so to produce content that will market ME, enabling me to sell something so one day I can buy my vineyard, open my small winery. I see it being by-appointment. Heureux, si heureux. (Happy, so happy.)
Last glass of Pinot for night. Rain on door’s other side, but not what they promised. The cosmos again attacked today, with me getting a call only blocks from the Autumn Walk Studio, my wife telling me the car wouldn’t start. I couldn’t believe it but then I could, I most certainly could with how the week’s talons had been chasing us both, our babies— Jackie with his skin infection and poor petite Em with her cough. And this morning, how could I forget this morrow with the hot water heater not working, showers cold and Alice and I turning away, saying ‘no way’. So tonight we both relax, me here in the home office, re-reading ‘Big Sur’ for the whatever-th time while Mrs. Madigan watches her screened reality. Her wine, basically. This Pinot, I have to say, could be one of the more forceful and coercive I’ve yet met. Now I’m getting tired. And if the rain starts to significantly fall in the next hour or so, I’ll be quickly asleep, dormant under sheets. Need something sweet, I’ll chug this RRV Pinot… Now get my own, join my wife in “reality”.