Where did poetry go in my story. No where.

Bring it back.  Needed this.  My regular spot at S&H, wine on the way.  That Albarino….  No way am I finishing that novel this month.  A month extension warranted.  I always have been my favorite professor…..  This place, I could write about it over and over… the people, the umbrellas outside blown one side to the other by today’s sudden bluster.  Fall…. And the wind really wants me to see it.  She puts down water, the waitress, says “It’s not quite wine, but….”

“Aw goddamnit…” I say.

She laughs, I smile.  Back to writing.  So tempted to call class tonight, but I want to speak.  Not entirely please with my talk, this morning, on Sonic but really Narrative, and how narrative brought me to Sonic.  Which is more or less the truth.  It sounded good, to me, when I gave the speech or talk, or part of it in my head.  5:02, plenty of time here.  One poem, my aim before leaving.  First sip of wine, more texture, touch and flesh than I remember.  Keep thinking I’m 40 and how I’m 40, I’M FUCKING FORTY… is this where I should be?  No I’m not in some mood, or funk, or depressed.  Definitely not depressed.  I don’t think.–  AM I?  No… just wanting more.  What I told the director of Consumer Sales at Sonic when he asked what I wanted at the company.  I said, “I want the same thing as everyone else.  More.”

Even after the first sip, I feel more composed, more whole and vocal.  She’s leaving me to think about her while remaining here in the seat.  Thinking next I’ll get a Grenache, if they still have it.  Pretty sure they do.  Didn’t look like the menu changed.  I should finish a book here…. Start one first, then finish it.  OR, stop focusing so much on a fucking book.  Fuck a book.  Write… put it out into the collective people presence as soon as done.  That’s the beauty of a blog, right?  Maybe I’m exaggerating, maybe…

Couple sits next to me.  Were sitting right in front of me, square table, but I think a bigger party’s coming, or already here waiting to be seated.  Always wondered if I could wait tables.  A friend of mine used to work here, and in a more financially-tentacle-wrapped time for me, showed on social media how many tips she tallied one night, easily over $150.  I was tempted.  I did ask her about availability, and she responded with a contact name I believe but it went no where.  Glad I didn’t pursue, or push, but I still wonder what it’d be like.  I partially have a conception from being in the wine world and walking out to tables with pours, flights, to talk to guests tableside.  But it’s not the same thing.  Actually, I know I’d hate it. Especially now.  Fuck, really?  I’m 40.  I think about it, that’s it.  Story ideas.  That’s it.