from wine pages

Nearly too tired to write. Make coffee for morning. Not sure I’ll wake as early as I want, but I’ll put everything in position for. Wait, no, no self-doubt. Part of my “brand” need be the 4anm wake. Both babies asleep upstairs, and me thinking of wine and business and tomorrow in the tasting room. Sipping what’s left of the SFW Claret, and ‘bout to open a sparkling water left from birthday night. How am I 40? Why can’t the writer accept. Accept what. All of it. Time, life, getting older. All of it.

Trying to embody and enact my son’s reading habits…Every morning he’s reading. Aloud. For everyone to hear. So tonight I started my re-read. Not of Road, but Fear and Loathing. Being lost somewhere and with altered perspective, but still a certain centeredness.

The wine has caught me, slowed me, and reminded me to have some water, ready for morning run. Where are shoes…. Oh, right in front of me, by desk and backpack. I think about my own office and see books, wine bottles, running gear, and me, my babies. Soon, not too old. But all we do is get older. Rule or perception, I still can’t tell.

The house quiet now, and I think of running in street versus running on that goddamn belt, at that gym. I stop self again from thinking too much and being more like my winemaker sister who once told me to not self-doubt, just as Ms. Plath did in one of her entries but with more…