Today, just a day. Not one bad, but a day. Need a drive, up to parents’ house. Clear head, think, plan tomorrow. Approach, to everything. Final minutes of day, not knowing what to do or even write. I’m a varietal in an odd stage.
Details not needed. The day is closing. I’m collecting, feeling like Kerouac in Sur. Wish I were in a cabin by the beach, writing, quiet. Maybe I should re-touch that story. Have Road in backpack and haven’t read a fucking page of it. I know, this shouldn’t be on the “wine blog”. Well if so many boast and repeat and profess that wine is life then why not?
Thinking the writing from earlier in day should be for book. OH, and again there I go. To that book talk. Just fucking write one, already– Yeah, I really shouldn’t be writing this on the blog, I know. Go have a glass of wine, somewhere. Or a beer. Forget the day, relax… see the stages differently. My biggest problem has always been my attitude, I know…. And if this doesn’t belong on a blog, then one should not ready it, I’d have to say.
Yes, a drive will help. Something to sip. A view. Where can I do that? Downtown? Not really in a position to spend money, which also adds to the frustration…. And this too should be in book. Stopping. No more posting or typing to be posted.