Monday, September 19, 2011


Mike sat there, heavily confused from the day.  Why, though?  It was one of the most fluidly pleasant, propelling, enrichingly education, wondrously wine-wheeled installations in months.  Back from his run, his first in over a week, and best in almost a month, he looked over his cubeNOTES.  One of the final scribbles, just before his last sale, read: “Today’s been smooth, enjoyable, it’s unnerving.” Again thinking, why?  He returned to NWG with forceful fretfulness.  Circulatory, skeletal, muscular instability intermissions, from turning of key to that Napa parking lot.  He hated that day, the one where you return after taking a sick day.  But, within the first hour, he had a commencing sale more sizable than any other he’d sealed on a Monday, within the first couple connections.  And the rest of his day just danced to that tempo.  Disbelief he loved.  He couldn’t solve this day’s enigmatic terrain, situation basin.
Once home, Mike stuck to his exposition of wine’s absence, till his debut race, Saturday.  He sat there, chipping at another chapter.  As much as he was able to accomplish at work, he thought, he could surely do with his writing, self-publishing.  He had to save more healthily.  No more lunches out.  AND NO MORE MOCHAS.  He needed to thicken his upcoming release.  More writing, he thought.  Tonight, the laptop would be put in his bag.  It was coming with him.  Tomorrow morning.  To NewWineGig.   
“What are you doing?  Are you bringing it to work?” Kelly asked, watching Mike put his laptop into his black, sliding it parentally into the laptop slot, like a parent would their child into car seat.
“Yes.  I have to.  Finally doing it, can you believe it?” Mike said, not sure if he did, unsure if he was proud, desperate, lunatic, admirable, blend of.
“Careful you don’t leave it,” Kelly said, putting on her sandals, the ones with  purple soles, dark pink lacings.  “Isn’t it beautiful out tonight?”
“It is.  Best weather for running.  Tonight’s was awesome.  Reminded me of summers in Sunriver, when I was younger.  We used to ride our bikes along the river at night.  The air had this rich musty crispness to it.  Like a damp field.  It’s hard to explain, but it was beautiful.”
“You always talk about that place.  I’d love to see it sometime.”
“Yeah,” he said, zipping device into temporary den.
9/19/2011, Monday

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