4

Tired.  Tomorrow, making calls.  Must say, I’m not pleasurably absorbed with the immediacy.  Oh, I did decide to open some wine.  A nice bottle of 2009 Tempranillo, Lodi.  Tasty, a bit young, but coherent, forward, vibrant.  Tobacco, not as much cherry as you might expect, herbaceous stroke (subtle), pervading leathery lashes.  Medium mouthfeel and gravity.  Either way, at deconstruction’s end, I’m sipping.  Still full from that quesadilla.  Surprised how relatively early it is.  8:43p.  Glass’ contents, in recession.  Saddening.

Read through a bit of an old entry.  Too similar to now’s pages.  Disappointing revisit.  Details...a motorcycle outside the window, speeding past this condo, down Yulupa, to a juicy speeding ticket.  Should I have tested for a motorcycle license?  How would my character be if I had a bike, wore leather, smoked, knew how to work tools, but still loved art?  Kept it a secret?  There’s a character...A new varietal.

In a foul mood, bubbling with syrupy pollutants.  Difficulty, of any kind, the yo-yo, not welcome.  Seriously, why does it need be?  Where’s Kelly when I need?  She’s the solvent, artistic, sacchariferous, the panacea for such problems.  I see her, but distantly.  Is a nearness plausible?  Fantasy.  Envisioned pastry.  Well past 1k.  Clocking out.  I write so much, I’m uncomfortable when I don’t.  Pronounced predicament.  Another sip, demanded.  A prerequisite for paper and pen...