14:10.  Took nap, back at desk with espresso.  In the sales story, emailed proposal now inputting new contact.

Budgeting and another run to Oliver’s needed for kids, short list…. Freewriting, no music.  And no more engagement with frivolous and cutpurse communication.  Humor, not hard to find it, to be honest.  Looking at a pic of a vineyard and feel better.. Nurse messages me, and more elevation.  14:46… wish I could get the kids now.  I can, I know, but have a couple more things to do.

I’m edgy today, as I told the Nurse.  Getting out of it, but still.. slightly testy.  14:54, now what.  Maybe I should just hit Oliver’s now, get it over with.

Quick haiku, a blaze about me.  Then write another, this one with a title.  Why do I need a title?  My writing mind and life sees titles and scoffs.  Not they’re not necessary, just something that is “supposed” to be done.  Why can’t the first few words of the work be the title?  Why does there have to be this isolated promissory note?

Random writer thought, sorry.

Another old picture, many hours later with the kids here.  Not sure when I took this.  Agining dreaming about a vineyard, waking up having coffee or espresso more than likely and just staring at it.  Why do we let ourselves stress?  Question toward myself, not some prompt or rhetorical.

Text Nurse, the kiss emoji, looks like out the side of its mouth.  Kids content, lunches made immediately after dinner served and eaten.  All tranquil in the poz loft.

Thinking of the kids as wine releases… Emma, a Viognier, her sweetness.  Jack, red blend with his inquisitive angularity and ingenuity … Henry, a playful little Pinot.

Wines I tasted last week getting me back into that wine blogger eagerness I felt in 2010, or 2009…