Done with workout. 5+ miles. Right knee, hurting again. Tonight, winemaking homework/research, and 2008 Merlot deconstruction. Must have already sipped the ’08 Cab I mentioned. Couldn’t find a bottle in the cooler. Nothing wrong with Merlot, I think. It’s a softer varietal, but potentially housing muscle, electricity. Don’t underestimate Merlot, I tell people. Would love to make a Merlot one day. Katie told me that I should think if I would like my Cab, and she does refer to it as MINE, even though I consider it ours, to be spicy or fruity, sweet or dry as she addressed today. Think I’ll aim for dry, see if I can snag some Merlot to sweeten it, give it more succulent berry swing. Want my wine to have smoke, somewhere. Need to ask my professor how to execute, catch such.
Listening to Wine Bar playlists, but I can’t figure out how how to approach tomorrow’s hours at Kaz Winery. Haven’t poured there in 2 weeks. Well, that’s not true. I poured there last Saturday, to help while Kazzy and Luke processed the Pinot coming in. Not going to take as many pictures, but more so scribble every second. Note form. My consciousness deluge, aggressively streaming. The music, assists, immediately. Tonight, racking my writing, as I will be my wine. Odd, I stop. Not a block, per se. Just an unanticipated cesura. After log posts, poetry only. Spoken word. Boastful, confident, ART.
Need to embrace Kelly’s attitude of just seeing what happens. Courageous curiosity. That’s how she landed in her current tranquil expansiveness. A woman of canvass, the brush, blended color exploration. Can’t wait for the Merlot. What will it tell me to do? Probably all of what’s contained in the last couple lines: FOLLOW KELLY. Write everything, record details all. To right, two pens. Inked rollers, directions opposing. What does that mean? Maybe nothing. Either way, it’s page-placed.
So, the Merlot. 9:46p. Boastful nose, with blueberry, spicy plum, smoke, leather, herbs. Mythically gothic, dark in its dalliances. Full mid-palate, Cab-esque. Finish, inter-dimensionally trysting; plum and blueberry expansion, retraction.
Mike thought of Kelly, but them stopped himself. He needed to write, produce something marketable, finally. He sipped his Merlot again, his “research.” Back at winery, tomorrow. But he had to record readings, research, not simply punchdown congealed barrel contents. He loved the challenge, writing with fruit. He needed to talk to her about it. Could be the emboldenment from his glass, but he didn’t care. Dialing.
“Hello?” Kelly greeted, cautious, off guard.
“Hey, Kell’. It’s Mike. Are you asleep?” Mike said, noticing how he sounded, wishing he hadn’t dialed. Why did he?
“Uh, no. I’m letting some glasses dry, and watching some really lame TV movie. What are you doing, Mikey?”
Mike didn’t know what lines to provide. Truth, or embellishment. “I’m writing. Really bad fiction. About to press delete.”
“Are you pouring tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You should come by.”
“I was going to.”
“Really? You want to taste some wine tomorrow? With me?” Mike wished he could just euthanize his dialogue. “If you can, anyway. I need to go, I have to finish this. Can I call you in the morning?”
“Sure,” Kelly said. Dizzied by the progression.
Sipping the rest of this Merlot, to forgo the past scene’s throws. Haven’t seen her as much, lately. What should I pour her tomorrow? Am I going to act awkward? This chapter needs to be closed. And it’s not even a chapter, really. Should call her back, but that would be like dipping chocolate into more chocolate. Not much of a fan, it’d be too much. And another call, after that one, would be just that. Too much. Need a sip, more Merlot.