First thought…

The Malbec from last night, just the wine I’d want to make. 06:30 now, coffee made, and I’m thinking of wine. Tempted to take it to work and share, but I don’t want to share even a droplet from that bottle. Will come home, or ‘hotel’, and see how she’s speaking. I don’t want much to change, if anything– texture, song, fruit-scape, that leathery light at sip’s start to non-end… can still taste her now. All shapes and geometries of her way–

My first thought, before anything in day ignites, is her.. wine. Art. A bottled gallery of emotion and effort, task and memory.

20:45

Emma booting me from bed, so I’m in this hotel couch which is so far from comfortable it’s impressive. Xmas tree, lit to right, Kerouac asleep in bed behind me. Emma in a crazed state, only wanting to talk and play and engage in games… Finally quiet, the writer thinks to self. Could change in a microbeat of beat. Hear people taking elevator just out door, walking, drunk I think. Fucking people. Why can’t we just be home. And why won’t these sloppy sludge-bladders go to sleep? Don’t they have to work tomorrow, any of them? My mood is low and I drank the last of the coffee in this room. So if I wake early I’ll just have to tap natural fuel, something to start session.

Think Emma finally fell to some sort of sleep shape. But then the clowns upstairs thump and jump and just hard-step on their floor ’cause they’re animal idiots who think this hotel is their private dumbshit den. Need sleep, I know, okay… It’s late, but not. And right now, I’m not. I’m a tired writing daddy, thinking about everything I have to do at the winery, and how to make the day read-worthy… Just go to sleep. You need bed, you need rest. Writers can’t always write.

Yeah, yeah…..

Bed early…

Not used to this. Closing chapter at 20:16. But here I am. 3 babies in room. Not resisting or indignant with a single slice of my Now. And that’s about it. Hope I wake early to work out… exercise downstairs somehow. I do see the story in place set for my benefit… won’t lie… a famous feeling. Saving this draft– returning early, so early tomorrow it’ll even me shock.. Ignoring the last few hours and rewinding. Running, don’t have the right socks but what the fuck does a real writer care– nothing. Not at all. I have the opp’ to fall asleep so early that I’ll wake up so early I’ll get done everything I wish. This is like a dream domain and demand. So I answer.

06:38,

showered and dressed.  Launch ready, no one else up yet.  Bed early last night and for today I’m remodeling much about my business practice, much.  “Much” being an understatement.  Yesterday’s inventory teaching me more than I ever thought doing inventory would, could, would ever.  Less… less of everything.  Thinking of taking day off to get all done, this remodel.  And, take Jack to dentist.  Just heard him wake…  Today’s one of drastic change.  No more writing of it.  Now, I do.  Will relay results later.