NaNoWriMo

11:18.  Been a day so far but finally I can sit, go through the few pictures I was able to pocket and store earlier from a vineyard off Guerneville Road.  Sometimes you need to take yourself out of the picture to understand it better.  That’s where my head is, presently.  Could have woke just before 5 this morning but didn’t.  No dwelling, just staring.  At my pictures… the one of the leaf, the one of that wheel or jagged pulley.  Wish I could have stayed out there all day.  Wish the whole day could have been out there then it wouldn’t have been as it was.

Can’t upload one of my photos, or any of them with the reception here on campus so I just write.  Refusing to be pinned and penned in that shared adjunct office I come here to the conference room.  Have thirty minutes to write, and I have no idea about what.  Today has shown me a harsh side to days, principally.  But I’ll write through it.  Out of it.  What if I gave the best lectures of my career over the next few hours?  I could do that, right?  I will.  Just talking to them.  Will be in Room in 27 minutes.  Which means logically I have 17 to write.  But write about what.  I’m an adjunct instructor of English here in the conference room of the English department fulfilling no part of my contractual duties.  Should be grading, but no.  Why.  Want to feel free.  Free from the day.  Just for a minute.  I know… this isn’t very wine writer-y of me.  Not sure I care or even want to talk about that dimension of my direction, if it’s a direction.

All this change in my pocket.  Every time I move it jingles and annoys to infinite annoyance.  Write on.  Write past.  Or better, write further into.  Ignore the annoyances not, but rather take them head-on.  Defy them.  Challenge them.

I’ll slightly edit and post shots later.  Right now I need a meditation.  A separation.  Not so much a release, but reason, reasoning.  Getting distracted by life and bills, obligations, appointments, and all compounded by certain ingredients since the fires.  Nothing I can do now, and why get annoyed with what you see on the drive up ‘SM’, then on Coffey?  Just drive, keep going.  Focus on the vineyards as you did this morning.  Look through my old photos for something of focus.  And I find something… leaf during fall transformation.  Need a walk, now… well, you’re going to get one.  Across campus.  To class.  My mood falls, tailspins, just want the day to walk vineyards in France, Spain, Portugal, anywhere but here—  Not right what I’m feeling but it’s what I’m ping-ponging, tirelessly back and forth in my total totality.

Reminding self that all I need is what I have in front of me— watered-down cold press coffee, which is still working and this typing speed is evidence of. My fire, my untitled syllabic tidal wave over and from, through and past my own thoughts.  Since yesterday at the Windsor coffee spot, I don’t want to write around others.  At all.  May type a bit in Maggini Hall once I get there.  I can tell the day is infecting my decisions, actions, perceptions of what’s around me.  Take more pictures… even this plastic cup has an artful value and voice, presence and code.  Just took a picture.. not sure if it’s worth anything but— of course it is.  It’s my moment, now, here, me in this restless rile and tussle with my own ideation.

Know I should leave now, but don’t want to.  Want to take time for me, ME.  Why not.  This whole day has been attacking me and insisting I do this, that, not get to my pages or work on book, this writing father, part-time teacher and winery person, wanna-be photog’… but maybe I don’t have to wanna-wanna.  No… why should I?  Going to note in Composition Book what’s to be done in class.. first.  Conversation, Creativity… solving everything.

Maybe this is a talk with self that I needed to have.  Feels that way.  Mom always said that would work, has been for years.  Need some sparkling water to dilute this caffeine impact, even me a bit.  Print role sheets… shit, should probably do that now.  But I don’t want to stop.  Want to go through more of these vineyard pics, visit and revisit them as tasting room guests say.

Many times I feel I’m writing about nothing but then I see I’m writing me and I estimate this author as a bit more than a ‘nothing’.  Oui?  Time to go, I know.  But don’t want to.  Here, all’s clear.  No— go give the lecture of your life.  Print role sheets first.  Do it now, before you forget.  You always forget to do that or mismanage your time to a point where you just fucking can’t.  Yeah… this isn’t a wine blog.  Well, maybe it could be, like … wine is life.  Doesn’t everyone think and say and suggest that?  Too m any people around me now.  So leave… leave!  I will.

Much later in the day, evening, I sip a glass of some Pinot, think from ’12, and look at more pictures.  Photog’ is now me, coinciding with my written vivacity…. Another shot, another, one from today along G-ville Rd.  Want to take pictures of everything, write about them.  If a picture’s worth a thousand words, what are the thousand words worth, if compiled?  A book.  BOOKS.  A career.  Took three pictures of my glass, Pinot with its light red/magenta/floral brown sugar shade.  Only thoughts and thought going through my veins and circuitry, a distilling of poise and dereliction, commingled in fruition fission.  A book.  A career.  Then, I’m fearless.  Tireless.  Today’s lectures and my pen-to-paper pulses, cardiac and synaptic in voice.

A day.  Now, ending.  But I want it to keep going.  More images.  Lower level, emptier, me calm, in visually chameleonic Equilibrium.  Pinot knocking on my inhibitions, then merely opening the door— no resistance.  No more ruin, only rebuild, only color, greens and blues and bright cinnamon browns.  I sit on the knoll, writing, corner of Coffey and Hopper.