Back in the chair. Already missing that feel of Monterey. On the drive back, thought about different approaches to the pages, one I want marketable, capable of transforming my Now. One idea is to shed this very b/log, upon 2011’s close. But would that be a good idea? Maybe the ’07 Sonoma County Cab, to be popped tonight, will direct the author appropriately. Marin, where we stopped for lunch. A different stage, to be sure. Shinny cars, shoes, faces, nails. Don’t mistake me for an unruly judge with pen. No! I’m in dumbfounded admiration of these characters. And that’s what I need, more different. More contrast. More surprises. Lessons.
Missing my professors, my grad school assignments I’d save to the last minute. Yes, even that laboriously retching James Joyce paper. Ugh. Sorry, Eve. But that last report hurt. I say that, but it was exhilarating, its composition, eventual fruition. Miss meeting new authors, going to readings. I love wine, its world, its characters, but I need to more prominently blend it with the Literary. The true way for me to shed my demons, as a word wrangler. All I hear, now, in this cluttered study, the heater. My heart’s steps. Mr. Poe would be amused, I bet. Need music, need something to read. Need to find that wish list I started in ’09, on the flight to Paris.