Think it’s too late to write anything that’ll make marks, even on this page. It’s 11:12p. The Crocker & Starr event today was more than a predicted education, or new wine experience. It really showed me how St. Helena has its own melodies, year to year. Today’s function made me further infatuated with vintage variation. 12 vintages of Cabernet Franc, then 12 of Cabs and Cab blends.
No lights on in the study, only the hall’s solitary bulb. Should have come up here earlier to write. Now, the day’s over. Was downstairs, idol. Don’t do so that often, so no penalty impending, yet. My run today tested my structure, vigilance. Had to stop my strides on Yulupa, in return to domicile, from an unanticipated cramp, or pain. Not sure it qualified as cramp-like. Either way, it halted my motion. Still sore, tired. Which I like. Many writing, wine writing postulations while stomping. Many, can’t remember, so I don’t know why exactly I now them mention. But, writing ping-ponging throughout my mental while breathing for the next five steps on uneven curbs.
No wine tonight. Had enough today, even though I spit all twenty four pours in the 2 verticals. One wine that did speak to me, that I didn’t spit, the Sauv Blanc. Didn’t ask Pam Starr the vintage, I could just go online now and learn, but it was unexpectedly reverberant, pleasing in elevated Napa Valley condition.
I apologize for ending session, but I’m with no jolt in my wiring to continue my typing. This entry, corked. Oxidized. Either way, not something for one’s Literary palate. Certainly not mine. Tomorrow, 1000 words. I don’t care what I have going on, how empty I seem, feel. No mercy on Self. I’m Self-employed on this page, and I’m the trenchant of trenchantly tyrannical “bosses.” Maybe tomorrow’s that day I write pages that mold my Now into a bliss balloon. Have always wondered when I’ll do that, write that one piece that changes everything; puts me on the NYT list, in that Stanford classRoom. Maybe 2morrow ...