Care for self, as vines and wine are cared for. Something I ate last night, not agreeing with the writer, waking early this morning and as devotedly as I tried to get back into sleep, no crossing.

A little after 07:00, and I’m not stressing or even thinking about time. The kids wake they wake, wife too, and the day will carry me.

Sipping a just-made cup. Thought coffee might help, for some reason, and it much does. Enjoying my quiet, my moment, sound void, downstairs. Grades have to be today done. Thought about going to J Winery, but I need have a day productive and with unusually elevated productivity like Tuesday. Finish my books… if there’s one aim for my 2018, I think it’d be that..

And now, my luck, I’m tired. Sip coffee to stay awake… Maybe a nap at some point. Maybe. Sometimes as a wine writer, wild wine writer like I, you don’t want to talk about wine. Wine becomes a word, the ‘w’ word. Talk about the life around it, which makes sense since without all around it you wouldn’t have IT. Even using it is unacceptable. Not in mood.. change topic, my mind and focus… ugh, hate feeling like this.

Should trying vegetarians’ ways for a bit, don’t you think? Yes, let’s. Huh, ‘let’s’ see if I to it stick. No promises in ’18. Only perpetuation. But that in and of its presence is a vow. Okay… so…. this is how I’m feeling. Sluggish, unsettled, frustrated. But then I see staring at that barstool over there, where Emma was last night having dinner, that it’s in my head. Another sip, hear the train…. the train has no choice. The people operating it and caring for it have to nurture it to ever-operational reality. I need be the train, speeding past Santa Rosa and Rohnert Park, down to Marin. Keep moving, even when the morning wants you to be still and just in the wait with everyone asleep upstairs. Keep going, ignore your cold or flu, stomach. Keep with your composition as creating.. you think Time’s going to give a care’s component about your preferences? Your reality and plan? No. So, we, I, you, GO.