In line for coffee and

I reiterate to myself how crucial 3 pages is today– calling myself “papablogga” and a “tireless writer” on the blog and social media.  Just because the laptop is still in its undefined state is no excuse to slow.  Bringing composition book and little pages and will write all eight hours I’m going on that clock.

Drinks and treats for family ordered.  Long line.  Now I wait in the area by the bathrooms where I see a young guy come out, employee, wearing cleaning gloves and barely holding with forefinger and thumb some small filthy white vent in his right hand.  “Work”, leaps into my thinking, and how all I want to do today is write.  Get on the 4th page, by he end of the year be in my Healdsburg office, drinking my 4-shot mocha and picking away at my croissant while I unpack bag, read HST before the tomorrow’s lecture.  Then, write more…

Not sure how much longer the drinks will take but I’m in no rush.  Writing all day… talking less, even when co-workers engage me in talk or gossip or banter.  Today the writer takes a necessitated silence oath.  Write everything… WORK.  Employee stands next to me now.  No gloves, on his phone, either on break or done with his day.  Waiting for …

Home to crazy house with crazy near- 5 y/o.  Now pumping gas.  Gas is the expense that always sneaks up on the writing father but he uses the time fueling to make notes, contribute or further assemble the day’s 3 pages.  Not as much traffic on Piner as I usually see.  Maybe several took the day.  I should do that, just that.. pretend I’m sick and leave early but go to campus and write in the adjunct cell/shared office for a few hours.  That’d get me to 3 easily–

Fueled.  Now the commute.

At winery.  Already craving a walk, where I photograph the light and how it frolics with the pruned canes.  Mocha done.  Now coffee.  Work… keep writing.  Record everything… opening bottles, glasses, bottles more… not tasting.  In a writing mood, not a wine mood– meaning, tasting.  No thanks.  Moving by quicker than quick– pugilistic and complicit, intrinsic in my diarist visit.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s