Tuesday, October 11, 2011

82: Bottled, Scattered Effort; Tied (notes)

No wine tonight, just book blending.  Another 1000 word lunch break in this monster’s memories.  Would love a mocha right now.  That wouldn’t let me think of the unapparent anchors on all tunes about my authorially cerebral mechanics.  Would be up till probably 3a.  But who cares, I’d be writing.  Steps closer to getting this book done.  Have more than enough pages for its mobility, shelf placement.  But, as I said, I need to blend carefully; cogent charismatics in voice portage.
Finding sudden necessity for mathematics in my book building.  Which pages assimilate most optimally in certain books, the parentheses.  And how many?  How many books in my projected career?  How many wine bottles do I need?  How many different varietals?  What should be the median, or mean, page count for my projects?  Hate math, but winemakers do it, everyday.  I must as well.  To an extent.  The pages have to be placed, pragmatically, somewhere, in some project, projects.  Books.
Morning mocha, tomorrow morning, without fail.  For the cubeNOTES.  My gravity, pulling me towards sheets, pillows, away from page.  Shameful, but unavoidable biology, physiology.  Hate those subjects, too.  More than like from doing anything but excel in them.
“So how’s work?  How’s the book?” Kelly asked, resting against the wall. 
“It’s okay.  Wrote 1000 words at lunch today.  But the book, still a mess.  How about you?  What’d you do today?”
“Went to visit my friend at the restaurant, as she got off work.  We went to get a glass, or couple glasses of wine.”
“Where’d you guys go?”
“Some place by, or on, Sonoma Square.  Can’t remember, but it was great.  Haven’t been to the square in months.”
“So how long can you hang out tonight?”
“I’m not in any rush.  Why?  I was hoping we could hang out for a while.  I know you have to work tomorrow, so, is that okay?”
Mike knew.  This was it, his first not-in-any-way truthful sick call to NWG, if he wanted.  Did she want to stay over, sip some of that Syrah downstairs, talk?  Watch a movie?  Sleep here?  He wanted.  “Yeah.  Yes, please.  I’m calling in, anyway.  I need a day.”
10/11/2011, Tuesday

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