EVER. But I did. Guess I needed it, I don’t know. But I’m frustrated with self, that I did. Got up, brushed teeth again and came to the Hopper Starbucks to write. Write something. Something I can use in class tonight and for the book, for everything. Some people in this little nook with me, other side and in corner go over plans either for remodeling a house or building one. Wouldn’t shock me, being so close to Coffey Park. I’ll be truthful, I have no idea what to write… where to go with my book, and I can’t let myself stop typing, so I just type. Sometimes that’s what you need to do to stumble upon knowledge, to intersect with some gem, some educating room or atmosphere, stage or plain. I’m looking around every so often, seeing more people come in, and I think o them either with a day off or working day, or are they going in late. I’m not in class till later. 7pm. Haven’t taught that late in years, possibly over ten. But I’ll be there, on campus, in the room right before 7, setting up and readying for 1A. Composition. Have to make it different, this year. Not only go against current grains in college instruction and the course outline, but just enjoy myself. Teach for the book, for the book after “the book”, whenever that’s coming out.
Today, cool, gray, not much cerulean qualities to the sky. Could be part of the exhaustion’s agent, why I went straight for that downstairs couch. I’m more than alive now, sipping this coffee as quick as I can. Wanted to run this morning, right when home from the trip to both Bennett Valley school spots, but of course no and now I think this writing sessions and the little horizontal placement was precisely what I needed. More people in this nook, and I further wake. Distracted but combatting pulls in attention. This semester needs to be THE semester that gets me in traveling takes, that finishes new pieces. It will, so no more promissory. The words fly around me like bees, bees building their hive, staying there for a bit then moving to another one. Stories… from the tasting room, abut the Room itself and the people that come in.. the wineries and the wine industry, and all the fantasy and promises that come along with.
They told me, at the current company, “If you’re as good as you say you are, you’re going to make a lot of money here.” Well, over a year by and I’m not making that much more than I did when starting with the company. Have I shown I’m as good as I initially proclaimed? No. I’ve showed them, all of them, management and upper-management and the people just around me everyday behind the bar, that I’m wildly better. So I’m moving on of course but as well staying in the wine industry character’s mind…. Interrupted by the only wine club/allocation list I belong to. Lady I was emailing has left the company. Shocker. With so much turnover in the wine industry, and world, why would I ever join another wine club? My contact could be gone the next day. I don’t think I’m better than the wine industry, or even as good a sales bloke as I professed early last year when Foley brought me on, but I need a change. I need new stories, new everything as I’ve been wiring over and over, over the past few days. Thought, Philosophy, self-predicates and mandates in mobility. Travel. So, I’ve moved, and will keep moving.