Sip of water, and not looking at the clock.  Getting sick of it.  Literally making me sick.  Each minute gone is another step to an old age.  Pessimism, that’s what time does to me and them myself to me.  Cycle that I can stop but for some reason I’m still a subscriber.

Quitting subscription, like I did with Wine Spectator last year.  Or was it earlier this year?

Wine… the symbol in tact.  Tasting room or quarter, gallery, not studio… maybe “flat”?  Anyway, having guests over, going through my story, one of the kids walks in, more than likely little Emma… they ask about my kids but not too much as they’re either friends or friends of friends.

Small business, family business.  I’m attached to the idea in such a way it’s dogmatic, patterned and repeated in dreams and during-the-day thinking.  I can’t stop it.

Simplifying my thoughts and behaviors, me as a character and the story I’m in.

Can’t believe I’m in this condo, to be honest.  My own space, this office, the quiet, the music, wine, few people I have over. Actually, other than Kerri can’t remember when the last time I had over …. anyone.