Return to the wine industry… the thought makes my fucking skin crawl, and reject itself, reject ME for even thinking about it. I swear, me and these fucking moods. Where did this one even come from? Had it since I woke up…. Is it the leave tomorrow? Is it quota stress and if so fucking WHY. You had a contract land this morning because you followed up, and you’re on vacation. Seriously, I say to myself, lighten and toughen the fuck up.
…can go over this later, of course OFFBLOG. Or maybe just in pen, in the Paris journal. Filled one page while at SBUX. Only had a 3-shot while there, so I can’t expect that to last too long. My bloody caffeine addiction, and yes it’s an addiction. Have cut back, but….. My relationship with SELF and the current page, the last full day of vacation. Say to myself, “FUCK IT.” Take a power nap, message that conversation and see where it goes… exploration with these humans, these characters. Makes me think of Basic Instinct, how the author was only with Douglas’ character for her new book, or at least that what she implied in that one part where he goes to her house to find her printing pages.
I just got here. Why do I have to leave already? I’ll be back in 90 days. That’s the plan. Going forward, every 90 days in Sunriver, somehow. Except maybe the winter where it’s snowing and icy and I might spin out ‘cause I’m not used to driving in that shit. 90 days from now would be… 1/26/21. I have to push back Paris. Maybe to my birthday or around it. Perfect.