Writing —
All in a my-morning.
Running is the
symbol, the lens, the massive metaphor you’ve waited for, the terrestrial and paradis…. the flight, the voyage, the map, the gem trove, the story, the song….sense, happiness, LIFE.
Running is THE Answer. Solution, sight, beat, magic. Answers and more answers, keys and invitation….
You should always
want to learn more about your story, and why you are where you are, doing what you’re doing.
Think.
Go slow.
3:10pm
And for the rest of the day, I’m singing……
Coffee needed after
7-mile run at lunch, and before lecturing tonight.
3/20/19
These pod chairs, or seat, I have to have one in my office. For me… My office, can see it. I can. I see it without closing my eyes. It’s a vision I not only believe it but find calm and quietude in. I’m there when I think of it.
Hot with this sweatshirt or jacket on. Can’t stop typing and take it off, though. That will cost me. Time. Time. What I can never have enough of. So aware of time, today. Life and its short stint. I choose to spend lunches like this, most of the time. Monday of course, no, getting lunch with Tasha. Yesterday, getting latte and writing a bit in car. So that suffices, partially. But this, this is a true literary lunch. This is what writers, true writers, do. What I’m doing now, a writer.
Thirsty. Want another sparkling water. Wait till after, after the typing and work for ME.
Someone else, in a pod next to me. Heard him turning pages of a book.
Gathering tax stuff…. Thinking of challenging self, again… what I can do till 4/15/20. 2020… makes me cringe. Time. Again. Reminding me. It’s coming. For me.
St. Patrick’s Day
Not sure what it means to me, the significance. If there is any. But I’m enjoying the day. Brewery up the street from the Autumn Walk Studio that I’ve been wanting to visit for months. And here I am. Finally. Back to work tomorrow and I return more composed and confident than recent weeks. Why…. I focus on the idea of sound, speed, efficiency, story. Kindness. The pillar and principle that should determine business momentum. Playing now, as I about to pick up the pint+ of Red Ale, Born On A Bayou, CCR. I’m taken somewhere. Somewhere. Some mood elevated and renewed. My day off but not. Not at all. This, this tap room if you’d call it that, present now in my pages. This is all significant. That I know.
Ides.
Of March. Still not feeling one hundred, and the morning for me is odd, little things happening here and there that aren’t worth page presence, but I’m thinking of 40 and how it’s now quite close. Wanted to wake this morning to run but the facets of whatever bug I have were still dominant. Went to be last night I believe just before or after 8. Woke this morning to wife telling me we slept in, around 7:15 I believe. So, rested, me, yes. But I’m off. In nook with jazz in ears and 4-shot latte, needing today to do something. Looking for other income possibilities, to one day have that house in Monterey or Santa Cruz, on the Oregon Coast, then I remember– Where are you, Who are you, What are you doing. Don’t look for anything. Got it, got it…. Kerouac in Big Sur cabin re-assessing everything around him and in his story so do I now in this morning with this latte and with this cold or whatever I have. Throat still a bit pained, not so much a nasal note, but I’m not my fullest of full selves.
Wife and babies going to Tahoe with fried and her daughter. You’d think I’d be thrilled with the time to self. Not. Not at all. Didn’t see babies last night, and won’t tonight and tomorrow nuit. Know that’s affecting my mood and how I’m composed, now. I’m sure of it. What if I pulled an all-nighter, tonight. Didn’t have dinner with my brother, Jesse, and just ordered in, typed until I found more of what I found this morning with the idea and purposing of classes online. Not so much an English class, or writing class, or ever reading, but FINDING self in the literary. March’s Ides, this Ide, moves me one way, the back into Self to find more Self, seeing self in classroom and staying in classroom.. not needing to look for ANYTHING.
2/28/19
Wrote 1111 words to start day. Relaxed in my nook at Sonic. My Sonic jots, becoming more energetic and consistent, more enlivened and electric. Sonic is not a platform but a page set for me to fill…. New identity for me to explore. Why Sonic works, from such encouragement. The wine industry and all the tasting rooms with which I collaborated never did this, or anything encroaching on such. MY wine business, approaching. I’m not giving up on wine business, and certainly not wine or my vineyards, my vineyard walks. This morning’s writing, telling me to have a conversation with wine, with self on the relationship with wine, wines story and the words that play from wined thoughts. The Robert Hall Cab from last night and night before, telling me to relax and be more eased in my wined chimes and lines, when I sip and to stay away from analysis but throw more height and color, more energy and effort into reaction, speaking wine. Not for the wine, but with her.
New blog started, soon. The u-sentence. No quote marks needed. More and more I hate punctuation. Anyway, this new blog is so closely associate with this blog, bottledaux, where the intention is to know your Now better, so I can know MINE more closely and intimately. Be FREED. You need start the day with YOU…. A proclamation, or thesis, or assurance, or provocation. So many words to choose but the intention is the same.
Face feeling itchy and uncomfortable. Now I wish I did leave time to shave, or somehow budget twenty or twenty-five minutes for such. But if I would’ve done that then I wouldn’t be seeing the word count of this morning. And yes, I’m giving word count attention. Why not.
Where am I driving today, with team? Hoping for SF. Berkeley’s fine, but anyone knowing me knows SF holds my heart.