In one of my moods since I woke, but now it starts to shed. 11:08, peeling away angst or rather not acknowledging it as I was. Made a couple calls, prospect saying he wants service but I can’t get ahold of him, or another prospect, or another in Berkeley. I have no control, I know. Detach from my self-latch.
No run today. Did 4.22 yesterday and 6.67 the day before, then 4 before that, and of cours4e the 30-min rush cycling on Monday.
Diminishing docility, if I allow. Lunch sounds amazing, as does a drive, as does a glass of Rosé at Hook and Ladder. Maybe later. Putting more stressed steps into my wine shop and studio. See it materializing, as with my wine manuscripts…. This semester, so far going well. Don’t feel as I did last semester, in Spring.
Hear my email alert, but I don’t get up to see who it is. 3-day weekend, plan on devoting entirely to the wine shop. The entire thing. Blogs, and book as well. I see my thinking getting in the way… of everything, I realized on yesterday’s run. Just a bit over 4-miles but I felt the thoughts slowing me, thinking about running and managing pace rather than just doing it.
Feel like writing a thesis against thought, against thinking. Produce first, ponder later if at all. Isolating in this house is beneficial and a bit barbaric. What am I doing…. If I’m writing about wine, I need be with wine, or walking a vineyard… researching more sites, reading history of wineries and wine areas. Drew dropping off the Westwood bottles day before yesterday, me tasting through them that night and again smitten, wanting to write them but not. Rather just sitting, thinking.
Commit self to 3000 wine words a day. For the rest of my life. Just wrote this note as a note in journal, and thinking of what wine I would sip now… what would pair with this escape from mood noose, and seeing the sky, no clouds or smoke. Should go for a drive, have lunch in Windsor. At that Mexican place on the corner. Maybe.
Friend texts me and lets me know he ran today when he said it’d be a rest day for him. At 25 miles already, he tells me. Then corrects himself and tells 15. Now I don’t feel bad about getting lunch, having a beer, watching the cars pass on Piner.
Want to taste somewhere, through a flight of wines, but where… somewhere on Olivet, not Hook & Ladder? Drive out to Sonoma Valley? Hit St. Francis, or Kunde, St. Jean?
Just what I was saying earlier… thinking. Often if not ALWAYS the problem, the obstructor, the poison.
Should go check who emailed me. Maybe it’s the prospect who says he wants to work with me…. Distracted from it, in the vinified form and spin. Everything I feel and see in the vineyard now in this room with me. Talking to Glenn the other day picking up those six bottles, having one of the Pinots last night, writing part of my book. Adding to the perpetual prose. Wine is free, freeing, so to be penned in liberated pulse.