Yes, of course, one Mike says then the other is more along the go of, “Just take notes, write it later, when you get home.” But I know I won’t, I’d say to this latter thought-shape.

Enjoying the coffee, writing carelessly.  I’ll do whatever I do right before I leave.  Most likely I’ll take it with me.  I’ll have an early lunch here, 11:30.  Ugh, totally not how I wanted to spend today or any day.

Old wine video of my sister, talking about some odd Australian wine she had in her closet, at the Dogwood house that later burnt down in the ’17 fires, well after she moved out.  Wine, my beat… the people and this Orin Swift story, that red I still have open upstairs.  Opened night before last and only had a glass, not even a fill one since it was getting late.

Set on my own tasting room again.  And this time, with more mind and words, writing out the first day and when I bring in those first cases to pour and sell.

It has to happen.

I’ve decided.  ME.  

Journaled.