Not sure if I’m going to the tasting room today. If I didn’t, I’d be home with family all day, not doing much. Don’t address c—-d, not giving it page space. Dream I had last night, writing in Sunriver, by the river, and at the lodge… and consolidating by blog efforts, soon releasing a book, self-pub’d. Travel. I can still do that. It can’t stop me, no matter how much IT is in the news.
My son watching a show, some Disney either movie or string of episodes, think the latter, and the kids in the show filming and recording their life and something they’re about to do. Then I remember that Jackie O quote I saw yesterday on LinkedIn about not wanting to record life, but LIVE it.
What can I do today to live more life, to have more to write about and yes record…. But live more.
To some people I guess this is up early on a Saturday but to me days don’t matter. Nor does time really, anymore, in c-cloud. How much you’ve produced is what’s imperative, what has weight and meaning and…. What can determine and punctuate your happiness.
Much prefer this, writing on a couch. Still smile thinking about the call my Engineer and I had the other day, prospect telling us overt he phone that he’s not in the office that needs service but on his couch. Much prefer this… this is a much more writer act. On couch, using that desk, that put me in the fucking corner covid table, as a table. Storing space. A dock. A rock. An island of me and writing, written me.
Wrote in the 1948 Dad journal a bit last night. Where you’ll find the most free of freeing and freed writings. We should all have multiple journals I’m now thinking, where in past semesters I’d say we ought have one. Again that emphasis on singularity….. that one place, just one. Now I don’t think so, or am not so sure. That could be another realization as well. Why do you need to be sure? About that or anything with your writing?
I’m in excessive and compromising thought. Focus on the morning and coffee, this writing couch, this new way of me, for me, narrating me and my intentions and Now, visibly. Rest of the morning, unknown. Day, same. I need to take off, go somewhere…. Maybe I should just go to Sonoma, be there by 10:45. In the tasting room.
About the people that come in and those that just walk by, peer in and look at the fly reel or menus on the windows and tables outside on the clipboards.
Gift self a latter, after this cup. Or not. Why this indecisiveness. Just go get one. All this thought, over a trip to Starbucks. That has to be comedy, right? Nothing funny, to me, about how current mood and spirit placement, how to describe it a struggle. I’m here writing though, that I know. Karl described writing as my vehicle, how I get through the day.
Where should I drive?