Still working.  Or not working, but noting.  Can’t remember what other aims for day were.  Working on wine operation, business or venture, or maybe it’s just still an idea.  Taking tonight to collect, introspect…  One last glass, and I wonder what this Zin has to say that the others haven’t.  May go to bed soon.  Wake early, go for run, the Lawndale run which I haven’t done in a while, and not sure I spelled it right.  Who cares.  I just want to write tonight, so I am.  Not liking how I look forward to Fridays now.  Why is that.  Probably because of this whole thing.  And it’s just a thing in my Now, that I can remove, surgically… I’ll be a surgeon in these freewrites for self and freedom and what I think I know and need do in this Now.

Tasting tomorrow at DuMol.  Finally.  Idiot that I am I missed the appointment today… pretty sure I made it for tomorrow at 10 but they called me today saying it was for today at ten and that they were worried about me… not sure why, but I appreciated it.  Wine.. plan on drinking a good amount tomorrow, and writing about it.. and the run up those Kenwood hills.  8:13… a bit early to go to bed, or maybe just perfect.  Wake at 4-something and write, go to Starbucks down the Road, or another one so someone doesn’t surprisingly find me.

Can’t find any paths out there, but I didn’t look that hard.  Might take Healdsburg, or Sonoma.  Park by Sister’s house, or something.  Either way, I’m running.  Maybe not eight miles like last Saturday, but I’m getting out.  Tasting at DuMol re-scheduled for 3pm.  Can’t forget that.

Noticing now the cell phone is death.  Death to writing.  Death to all this, any attempt at production.  So I set it down.  I actually slightly slammed it to this table at Mom and Dad’s house.  One more sip of this Zin…  And I sip it.  So there’s no more distraction.  Thinking again about the run tomorrow, up the hills and onto Kunde’s property.  Should I… fuck yes I should.  I need a run tomorrow that tests me, truly.  Pretty sure I can log around 9, or maybe ten.  Why do I number in some lines, then spell in others.  I blame the week, I blame this shit I’m going through, I blame the Now… no matter how much I know from it.

What is everyone doing tonight?  Want to record conversations, like I said to someone working at a wine bar tonight…  Conversations are not just interesting, or even amusing, just whole and bright… like momentary theatres that teach, and if not teach then just show… provide unexpected music.  I don’t know.  Freely writing, finally.  And maybe it’s from this current course and kerfuffle .

Not collected where I am.  Need move.  Need travel.. bring stories to babies when returned.  Restroom.. restrooms, in hotels, in other countries, and the bed in which I sleep, what I write after.  What’s there… what will I say to self?