Did end up going to the taco spot next door and having a beer, when the guy told me there was somewhere around 25 or 30 minutes left on my job.  Walking over there and not knowing where I should go and where I should order a beer, if I could be there just to have a beer. Girl behind bar recognizes me, say she took one of my classes.  Brie, her name, not sure on spelling.  Paid for IPA and sat at a small table, four-top in shade.  Didn’t think about much except for the time to self, wheels… wheels spinning and turning, delivering a character somewhere of or not of choosing.

Beer here at desk, or table… Jackie in the other room talking in funny voices.  Then I have nothing to write… spent self too early, possibly, like a writer friend of mine recently said I might be doing.  I argued you have to force yourself to write.  There is no excuse, even if you did let it all out early.  Stay in the chair, develop the idea.  For me, it’s business.. keeping the business alive and growing it.  But what is it exactly?  I have to ask that painful question – What IS my business.  Writing, blogging, okay I get that.. but what else?  Has to be in the creative sound and personification of the NOW, whatever the subject is.  I start with what I know, wine of course… selling wine and now I can see I’m thinking about it far too hard, too much.  Another writing rule, NO THINKING.  Goddamnit, why do I do that, go down that thinking hole, for rabbits or whatever.

Kids sitting, relaxing, talking to each other.  Debating on what their 5 week old brother could be thinking.  Lesson to me on thinking, thought, organization of thought.  Sending the students a note later, on essay writing, the points I mentioned earlier, and some expanded/stemming ideas.

Neighbor mowing lawn.  Annoyed.  Why does he mow his fucking lawn so much.  Was thinking about one’s life’s work, and what’s entailed in that, what it should be for someone and how you realize what yours is to be, then he turns on that infernal thing.  Like a buzzing and heavy metallic moan.

*No thinking.  Not even a little.  Movement is what molds the manuscript.

From a similar thought above, just re-worded slightly.

Opening one of the Arista Pinots Kim delivered last night.  There’s only two to choose from, either Sonoma Coast or RRV.  I’ll go with Coast.  Last time I had some wine delivered I had some of the RRV.  Sonoma Coast Pinot I think comes mostly from the Bucher Ranch, which has its own distinct and oddly dignified olfactory sense vintage after vintage.  Not bad, just, well, you notice it.