Self-note: Before walking out the door, remind yourself of the utter amazingness you’re definitely capable of.

Easy drop off for babies, now at red light on way to treat self to a mocha.  Woke in a bit of a mood, but I’m capable of anything, so I am going to be in the road soon, reading my work, sharing ideas.

In line now for coffee, and of course its long.  Everyone here for the same thing– that fix.  Caffeine, whatever form it takes.  People here with their kids, I just want quiet so I brought my headphones so I can have some playlist drown this all far away and out.

Drink ordered now waiting.  Anyone who knows me knows I hate waiting.  But that’s part of my general re-write of character– patience.  More patience exercised.  Like Dad had always said, “You’re not always gonna go from zero to sixty.” So, I wait.  Man with his coughing daughter waiting, left.  She says something to him about the cookies she saw in the glass display.  I’m out the door, and building as I go.  The whole day writing, educating… EDUCATION.  This is all a compounded education set of measures and chords and melodies.

Seated with mocha.  They got it wrong the first time, not having it non-fat as I ordered.  But here I am, tired from yesterday’s 8-mile run, and wanting to run again somehow tonight.  How can I do that?  How WILL I make that happen?  First couple sips of the mocha, very much helping.  Trying to eliminate distraction around me, but it’s harder than I thought.  Should leave… this writing scene doesn’t feel like one meant for me.

‘Nother note: Know when to stop, when to re-start, when to re-write.  Know such is integral to the creative.

Now home, sipping the Santa Lucia Pinot I bought from Bottle Barn on the way home.  Needed something new to interact with and write about.  Finding I’m easier to bore with wine, nowadays.  Not sure that’s a boon, or maybe it is— always wanting new worlds and material addresses to deconstruct or at least converse with.  The Hahn, this Santa Lucia, more herbaceous when first opened and now such a note morphs to caramelized some-fruit.  What.. raspberry?  Cherry-bacon?  What the hell is that?  Had a perforating understanding today behind the bar while looking down at those old vines on that property, that… not sure how to phrase it… well, that I need to only write about wine.  And in my own way.  Follow my sister-in-law’s advice from years ago.  Back in ’09 is when she advised I start a blog, about wine.  I did, but keep changing my nexus— “OH, I want to write about fitness…” or “I should write about parenting.” Or, I should just write about education, ‘cause I’m a teacher.  Well, no.  I’m a writer, ever before I’m a bloody “teacher”.  And I love wine’s progression, the difference in a single lot, plot, vineyard block year to year.  This Pinot reminds me that I need to quell all doubts or reservations, or double-takes.  I’m a wine writer, maybe even journalist.  Period.  There… more coherence to its code and conversation with my senses, demanding I be the like as a manuscript molder.  No more teaching… no more settling.  Write wine.  Fuck it… re-write entire industry.  Okay—  I will.  I’m more than capable of such.  I now I am.  Tonight.. read.  Some HST.. Kerouac, Plath… Coelho.  Quotes I’ve collected over the years.

Learning from another me.. the forward-Mike.