25 August

I spent today pruning grapes in a vineyard. At 5:40 I woke up. It was still dark and as I got ready the sun shined its first beams over the mountain peaks in the east. It was cold outside, enough for a long-sleeve shirt and shivers. I drove to work, arrived at 6:30, and from then on until 2 I spent in the rows of grapes, picking to make wine. It made me think of Italy - of Rome - of Romans picking their own grapes long ago to make their own wine to enjoy. From what I hear, they did enjoy it, quite much.

I haven't felt creative lately. I blame it on routine. Wake, go to work, work, break for lunch, work, come home, fix a crummy meal, go into town for the night. There seems to be no spontaneity in my life anymore. I hope I don't fall into the trench I'm told is the "real world." I have so much more I want to do. Or, I don't want to do routine. Not yet. Maybe sometime, but still, I hope not. 

I'm not around creative people. That could be the problem also. Even writing this, I don't necessarily want to be, but the more I write, the more I'm glad that I am. I need to write more letters to interact with my creative friends. I need to meet more creative people. I need time. I've had no time since being here. I've had one day off work but I move so much slower than so many others that I need several days to myself. I want to go into work when I feel it's time to. I want to take days off when I don't feel like working. I want. I want. Yes, I do want, and, in wanting, I expect. There's no point in wanting something if I don't expect to get it. Empty wishes are foolish. I'm not tossing my pennies in a well. I'm going to figure out how to get things my way, at least for me.