After the morning thousand, I arrive to winery and feel odd. Off. And not sure why. So, up to office, across the dark and spooky crush pad and production area, and here I am. Writing that I’m not sure I should be writing, but then considering my attitude how to fix. Find humor. In all this. “You work at a winery,” I say to myself, “how hard could it be?” I agree. But the feeling stays, not able to shake it, I decide I don’t want to talk about the ‘I’ anymore. Happiness is conceptual, but actual, and more actual and tangible if we want it to be, really. You don’t have to see what’s around you the way you do, do you? No. See the day as a game, or a play, or some show evolving before your sight and you involve yourself however and wherever you elect.
Let the morning teach you. Let it teach you everything you thought you already knew about the morning. Let’s say you’ve already decided today’s going to be long, drawn-out, the usual humdrum doldrum. Let the morning, the day following, show you it doesn’t have to be— that it won’t. Take your mood and scrap it, trash it, dismiss it. Don’t let it let itself stand up, develop or play its putrid song. Actually, take it upon yourself to teach the morning what you’re not just capable of but what you WILL do.
More into my usual confident and loudly assured ride, stride. Listening to music, sipping the hotel’s coffee, and wondering what’s going to be narrated from day. What people will say in reaction to the wines, the property. Onus…. What I every semester stress to students and now see I need more enact and actuate. Re-writing… now. ME. The morning, day…. The wildest of wild yay-says.