Dot Dot Dot

I start the morning with latte, normal amount of shots which I won’t bore you and put you into a pretend-to-give-a-shit coma. Today, realizing that I don’t want much to do with the tasting room. At all. My job is to write wine, about her, about her character and movements and how she speaks to us. Not pour over and over and say the same thing, or something similar. While with the glass at Balletto, I was in time, in its grip and twisted in its formulaic dizzy. But this morning I have no idea what to write. What did I tell my students to do in such instance, I don’t remember. Even if I did, I wouldn’t put it to practice more than likely, knowing me. How do I change that about self. Not sure about that either. My plan for the day is to not do my “job” at all, but enjoy myself. Said that before as well, so what beyond that. Meet people, make connections, use it for the writing, what I’m doing at Sonic. This morning I feel like I’m learning to write all over again.

Put on an instrumental, hoping that’ll wake some inner-beast of ferocity and dispel this literary immobility. Writing about wine is never this, never this free… it’s always that little whore of a paragraph if you could call it that describing the wine, and in ways you’ve before heard. This morning I’m wondering if I should do more of that, but in my own way. Play the game as I once said. Take on the wine industry rather than always voice my citations about it…