Retired Equation

At other house.  9:11.  Rest of latte and quiet after shaving, shower, new clothes. This week I’m not caring as much.  More free, freedom.  In everything from the Fall semester to being an AE.  Thought in the shower yesterday and today about consolidation… what I want, and what I sometimes think I want.  Speaking money on a new camera, then music equipment like I did in my 20s and early 30s.  No.. I stop myself.  This is Mike Madigan, here on page, early in morning writing listening to Tycho or some other atmospheric instrumental while writing.  I think I get it… result from yesterday’s project and business, 81421.  

On my cruise around Windsor and Santa Rosa, I thought again of this, what I’m going through, and how I need to be more open about it.. narrate everything, put literally every fucking thing on Bottledaux—  No, THROUGH it.  This is a medium, a company, a distributor of thought.  Oh shit, this is one of those ideas that literally makes your heart move weird, and breathing becomes something you have to think about because you notice you’re not breathing as much as you should.  DIVORCE… there, I said it.  So what.  No, I shouldn’t say that, but I should go further into it.  Have this blog and company be my new counsel.  Huh… And, a way of being more honest with myself and the world, everyone around me, even—

I have to love mornings like this as a writer, yes, but Human more so.  Time for me, to build and assemble more character architecture.  The 1A sections are going to teach me again how to write, explore and put SELF to page.  9:17 now, need different music.  Was thinking Mr. Coltrane, but Mr. Rollins calls.  Poetry, in everything.  While in tasting room today, finish syllabus, write students….  I imagine myself a certain Sedaris, not as fine a penner or storyteller of course, but with his use of the immediate.  And watching his class last night for the 394th time and he saying how he loves Tobias Wolff and his short story style.  This morning puts me in those observations and confessions inward and outward – “Again, Mike,” it says, “put EVERYTHING on page.  Even the painful, uncomfortable shit.”

The page is right.  Nearing time when I should leave, but I’m closer to the Square, here in Skyhawk, so maybe I’ll wait till 9:50, or :55.  More moments like this me approach, I know.  Latte done.  New song from Mr. Rollins, quicker than last, and I’m trying to match his pace but I can’t.  Travel, the page tells me to get out of Santa Rosa… do what your mother says and flee to Oregon for a few days.  “Fuck sales.”, it says.  I raise both eyebrows, and consider. Who knows where I’ll land.

A day in a tasting room, today.  Wine and wine people.  That too, I’m shedding, eventually.  Like I said the other day to someone, maybe one day a small label with my sister, but……