Backed-up, with podcasts, photos, notes. Gripping tonight’s post, alongside a glass of Malbec. News, jumping from the screen. Hard to remain focused on this entry. Is America any safer? I am. With this very full glass. Mendoza. The book, even closer to completion than I before measured. Tomorrow, back in character. Malbec, mystifying. Why can’t I figure out this varietal? Wish this installation could be of more rich elevation. Just enjoying the sitting; Malbec manuscript.
How did all this material pile, Mike thought. He looked through the pictures, videos. The Malbec tasted skewed. A tasting Room, of his own, again in his delusions. Mike looked at his camera. Memory full. He walked into the kitchen, to refill. He’d been blogging all day. How many wineries had he visited? As he could recollect, 5. He need to slow, he knew. Wine writing, spoke to him, even as his sipped slowed. Earlier in day, he slithered through Stanford’s site. He couldn’t detach from the fantasy of a Creative Writing, or Fiction, or Poetry, or Non-Fiction section at the Palo Alto ground. If he ever did capture the sheet, he’d truly streak complete. He looked at his notepad. The notepad was barely articulable. What was wrong with him? Mike made a list of the projects he had to post.
10:44p. He thought of his approach tomorrow, to his tasks. He couldn’t be too specific. Even in his head. He flipped in an aesthetic aquarium. What if he did a safari, something totally unexpected? He need the books sales, for such a flight. The day’s footage mage him grin. Yesterday’s as well. He sipped the pour excessively speedily. The notes were hardly notable. And it was his fault. After the best seller’s list, what would he do, where would he go? What would he sip? Water. He was done. He craved sleep. But one more Malbec step, would render him inept. So he stepped.