…with so many around me complaining they have to work and help set up for an event, acting like everyone around them is a dizzy-eyed joithead. I’m in Paris, not sure what street, not sure what the name of this bistro is, but I sip a light beer watching people pass, live, talk and smile and kiss and not have any of the energy I used to see.
On lunch, knowing that this month, June ’18, is the month of DO. Where I get away from all this. Where I travel and write about every detail from, as I’ve written before, napkins and glasses at a restaurant of café to the car I rent, if I rent one. I needed an escape, this lunch. The negative forces around me are considerable, but I’m in much a know of where I’m to go. Read an article about Budapest, Hungary that has me charmed in a trek-want. Maybe I should go there before visiting my city, Paris, again for the first time since ’09.
I then pretend I’m a tourist, visiting Sonoma County for the first time, stopping at all the wineries along Chalk Hill Road here then driving north into the heart of AV, stopping at Hanna, then White Oak, Hawkes, Medlock…. Writing self away, not so much dreaming. Being productive, not so much. Just writing. Being a writer, as that’s what I am but as well to mute all this moot malarky around a writer. I breathe… compose… see Paris. Nays are no more. I’m just venting in this entry, I know, but I’m THAT age (don’t want to write it, anymore) and drastic decisions are made. Now. Today. Travel… write… self-publish, conventional, who cares that’s not the topic right now.
Would love a glass of wine. Anything right now if you need now, and when in Hungary I’ll sip whatever’s offered. I don’t care. Travel is the yay…