One of my lunch breaks, where I write, but

img_4747it’s more than that today.  Today, odd.  Making calls to invite club members to some party in 10 days, the biggest party of the year, and some would argue in all of wine country all year.  But I’m needing something else… forcing self to be creative with moments, sipping the SB, then Pinot Gris, then stainless Chard, then Cab, writing notes in little pages and they today take different shape.  More freed, more poetic and musical, more careless and separatist.  Me.. wild wine writer, needing more from this blog and my writing, from life and career, and I have everything I need to have what this bloody writer envisions.  No one in office with me, and this office bringing again those memories of the job I had in ’11/’12, at ‘the box’.  The box, the box… fuck that bloody box.  What did I learn there?  Well, I guess some selling approaches and facets, but not much more than that, if need you now know.

Forgot to pack a lunch as I always do so I snack on unsalted almonds, some crackers, a little cheese, and more almonds.  Could use some chocolate, some chocolate to pair with the single-vineyard Cabernet I was tasting earlier.  Working at a winery, me, and writing everything down… every goddamn thing, and finding humor in it all, as well as educating dimensions, and telling enrichment for my blog and pages, eventual and near projects.

This is more than a lunch, more than a break, this is me using the time as it’s mine, entirely mine, making wherever I am part of my manuscript… where I am and what I’m doing in this office is collection, in wine and from wine, but far, far beyond it.  A break, sans lunch, no lunching, just me and an empty room and a new life.