13:13. Not sure if that time is bad luck or not, but I’m back home. Didn’t get license renewed but stayed in line till I saw lady clerk, young with glasses, and she told me after I asked her how long the wait was, and that I might leave and come back Wednesday, a day after license death, to go to the computer and at least register or whatever and get a confirmation number. Which I did.
Now that I’m home, and with a clean house after cleaning squad finished their excellent job, soundless house except of course for Mr. Davis’ track, “I See Your Face Before Me”. Need to write a track today, at some point. Won’t lie, poured self some of the Felta Chardonnay. Need today to be yesterday but with more expansion and dimension. Providing poetry and…. Ready to start a track. Jam with myself and this white wine…. Saw the ‘Speed Limit Enforced’ or some such sentence or fragment arrangement on a sign, driving back from Petaluma.. Had idea for poem, something to read. Read it and record it.
Saw new business plan for self as a writer and blogger, right in front of me driving over the Cotati grade, with some motorcycle flying past me, obviously unaffected by the watchful sign and nonexistent CHP.
My pour was small, my sips are smaller. If anything, soon I’ll go back to the Hopper ‘bucks and find a spot, order some pure blacker than black, lovely coffee, and write my verses for day, to sell. I never do this, sip wine in day’s middle. I’m feeling better, the drops seem to be working, work texting me saying how they miss me. I feel immediate, more jazz-chore’d, musical and present. Like my identity, Mike Madigan, was re-written. By me and the day, herself.