Wine. All I can think about. Somehow making it, its business and industry do more for me. Six days from 40. Feeling immeasurably better than I did. A little sinus pain but other than that I’m essentially fully recovered. And the here-and-there cough. Writing, teaching, how the semester’s gone, and I’m on my own with these thoughts, or not. What’s in my head I don’t know right now finishing this latte, about 50 minutes from when I need leave and head straight for office. I’m overthinking, a lot, I just said to self just noticing looking out the window and up seeing clouds wondering if it’s going to rain a-goddamn-gain.
In the Richmond District again, today. Windy again, more than likely. How to make today different, as I always say I’m going to. How…. Maybe take a step back. Observe more. Say less. Make notes, or not. How about just BE, in the moment on whatever street.
Why am I writing, now. What do I want. What do I hope to hold. Wine, or travel, or both. Yes and yes, but something else. What I’m not particularly clear. Mom has often recommended I stop writing for a bit, collect then return when something constricts me. Thinking now may be one of those walks, stops. So, I stop. Put laptop away, and only note in the Kerouac pages she bought me.