Oenotivity…

6am and ready to leave for campus but can hear my little girl up there projecting some kind of call, or signal, possibly telling us that she’s up and that we need to get up.  Long day ahead of the writer, with class of course and then the winery following.  Feeling drained this morning, and not from too much wine or pizza last night.  I’m just in odd momentums this morrow.  And there she goes again…  Not sure if she wants me to go in there and bring her to Mama or if she’s frustrated she’s not going back to sleep.  If I’m a wine this morning, or just wine principally, I’m when you open a bottle and just know something’s amiss.  Not that it’s bad or corked or oxygen-burnt, but just “off”.  You swirl and swirl and hope it gets better but no.  It just stays in the funky place.  Why, you ask.  Now you get frustrated and start to in your head moan and whine like my daughter.  But nothing helps.  You know you should have waited to open it.  “Goddamn it!” You say.  Aloud or echoing in thought.  But here you are.  So now what.

And here I am.  So now what.

The idea of selling photography, ditching it.  Don’t need another effort or campaign of any kind.  I don’t want to be too blended and spread as a human being.  I’m a writer–  Like those chasing down Napa Cabs for their character I want to be rewarded for my writing efforts, and sought as a writer.  Not as a writer who also sells stock shots.  I get impatient with myself just like the person who opened the bottle and thinks ‘oh shit if only I had waited’.  My parents waited for their futures, I need exercise the same composure and collective ease, this morning and always.

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