Couldn’t walk on beach, with all the orders in place. More than just a couple Sonoma County Sheriff vans, cars, and even on helicopter Jackie spotted. Me, only getting a couple mental touches of the waves and sands having to drive.
Now, no idea what I want to do. Zoom call with Jesse, my closest ami in the wine industry and pretty much anywhere. Oh, at 5. So 53 minutes give or take. Sparkling wine tonight, nothing red in house. Need a beer after drive, and after kids complaining about drive length back… Jack in trouble for behavior, which lately show those quarantine angles, sounds and motions and colors…everything associated with this thing’s everything.
Kids outside playing, different family. Are they supposed to do that I don’t care I’m just trying to focus on myself and this, this Sunday, a holiday weekend which is irrelevant and barely a felt reality.
Need a place to write, outside this house. Mom offered their home here, with them in the Sunriver home, but I need something.
Want to do the drive again, BY MYSELF… no kids. But why. Even if I could there’s no where to park along Highway 1’s side. I mean, there is, but the SCS will tell you to move. I can’t park and write like I did that one time in Monterey or Pacific Grove. I left the house but feel like I didn’t at all. The kids with me… not blaming them, but that was the house in the car with me. The short beach sight I had told me I need to get something by the water, somehow, soon.
Jack still in his mood. Afraid he gets that from me… rejecting everything, sharing and audibly expressing his indignation. Melissa tries to appease him, offering to make something with him from a kid’s cookbook. It’s more or less working, much I can tell from the office corner.
Writing during the day, on “weekends”, is near just not something that can physically and barely mentally done. Am I turning into a “daddy blogger” in this quarantine? Maybe a little… everything directed by and from their moods, health, requests, sayings, interactions (if you have more than one), proximity to you. Shocked, to be honest, that I have this time.. this sitting, this time in the corner before my call with Jesse. Sparkling wine sounds magical… needed. Need to pretend I’m celebrating something.. speaking some other language, from and in some other room. Need to feel un-whelked. Don’t want to sound in any way like that blogger I saw yesterday, just grieving about her kids and being in the house… SO, I need to more follow my own counsel. This quarantine is for composition, incubation… growth.
Bottledaux now takes more the shape and place of a publisher… Think to more altitude, I tell myself… scribble in the notebook. (AND STOP USING FUCKING ELIPSES.)