journal

…a stall…not sure what to go after, prospecting-wise.  Henry in upheaval.  Nearly impossible to concentrate, so I think about where I’d rather be.  Honestly, not sure.  But I put self in the beach house, writing and looking up at the water occasionally.  I’m writing about a small winery owner, and grower.  He sells most of his fruit then makes wine with a little over 15% of his crop.  This reminds me I need to drive to Bottle Barn and pick up something for tonight.  Don’t want to burn through any more of  my Unti…. Continuing in my envisage of the beach house, and finishing the book, stories on wine and other parts of the wine story, mine if you could call it that…. Sorry, my head is everywhere.  So I log everything… Jack and Emma upstairs making noise after I told them to be quiet, Melissa trying to put an irate Henry to nap…. The evenness of the day declines, and eventually is no more.  I can’t keep my thoughts at that beach desk, because of the turmoil here.

Henry’s been out for a bit now.  Emma does her class and Jack of course distracts.  I slow…