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inward jot

Still at Starbucks. Working officially on my wine industry piece. Tell-all, thesis, or just some book-length piece. I find it interesting, I just thought, all the tasting rooms I’ve worked at officially, or assisted for a day or some event. The wine industry… wow. I’m out. I’m out. I even have a hard time believing it, if you want to know the truth.

Ready for 1A, tonight. Nearly 8 hours away. Think I could go for a run, now. But will hold off for a bit. Could use brunch, somewhere. Piner Café or…. Planning a day I make so complicated. I overthink which is just what I tell students NOT to do. I tell them that overthought is writer-death. So why do I do it, a writer? Not thinking about it as it’ll just drag me into more overthought.

Am getting a bit esurient. Don’t want to leave, though. Don’t want to stop writing. Want to see where the writing takes me, this sitting in Starbucks. Knowledge-addicted, told the English 100 class last night that I very much am. Not that I’m trying to decode life, “figure it out” as so many say they’re trying to do, just see more of it. As it arrives and while it’s here, right in front of me to live.

The wine industry was holding me in place. I let it. Now, I study, go over all my days in the tasting room, pouring wine for people. Some who definitely didn’t need any more. Some who were just curious, then the kind that just enjoyed hearing themselves talk. I’ve seen everything in the wine world, the industrial and the transactions. That’s much of the reason I leave. And, I finally get to write it. Write it all. Composition, tonight. Wine industry, my final two days after, starting early tomorrow. Coffee, telling me to keep working. Reward yourself with brunch once you’re done, I say under the noises around me and this music, the what I used to call “chill wine bar beats”. Used to say that when I’d write at the Napa Roasting Company on 1st Street, Napa’s downtown obviously, on my lunch break from ‘the box’. The box.. wow. Seems like another life, another me. Some other person looking for something else, somewhere, and that somewhere happened to be in a small telesales office on 1st & Main.

Getting ready to leave. The hunger is now interfering with the writing, with my page insistence. Almost began this sentence with ‘But,’. I hate that I do that so often. So, stop. I’ll offer that idea at some point in the term. If you don’t like what you’re writing, or some way in which you’re writing, then stop. Starbucks, less people around me which I like. Maybe I should just stay. See what I produce. This is what writers go through, I’m only now at 39 beginning to really appreciate. It’s work. This place, the office. Tonight, in my other office. All is work, all is written, all to blog or elsewhere. Any event, written. Studied. Knowledge pocketed.


(, where everything’s recorded and studies, for sakes of me and all around me.)

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