Had a breakfast burrito from Oliver’s, and still hungry. Making some calls, sent out a proposal, and now a writing break. Neighbor trimming hedges or weed-whacking, I don’t know. It’s loud. Then it stops.
Then, nothing. Could do budget, but won’t. Shit.. what do I do? No run today, so it’s the chair and these screens and that’s about it.
Opened another St. Francis Zin last night, and was struck. Not one of these bottles has been ‘eh’, or even ‘huh’. Each has been a cage of intrigue and intense interest. Obviously I’m not sipping right now, but still remember the first sip last night, and the color and how it stared back at me. There was a conversation with that wine that hasn’t been present in anything I’ve sipped in maybe the last year, maybe since before the covid cloud.
Life’s work will be wine, of course writing about it, but the Zin told to stay in a singular stride, and things will happen. See that? The morning lull and stunted countercurrent diminishes and then I forget it was there.
Tonight, notes. No sentences. Can I do that? More notes. Stop with complete phrases and compositional correctness.