Too much time alone, not enough time alone. Balls, chickenshit. Badass, loudmouth. Brilliant, clueless.

I left the house knowing I'd have a moment like this. What, you think this whole trip is about wine?

Shee-it.

I'm in the Marie Callender's and the waitress has plunked down a big fucking plate of cold cornbread. I'm looking at this big hunk of cornbread and I'm thinking: what the fuck am I gonna do with that? Who the hell's gonna eat all that? Why did she put all that on my table? Now, because it's on my table, it's mine, and I've gotta deal with it. It'll go to waste if I don't eat it, and all the starving children will know. I could take it to go. Then it will sit in my hotel room and taunt me: you spend so much money on your fancy food, following your every whim, and here I am, perfectly good sustenance, rotting by the television while you fill your greedy hole with In and Out Burger. What a horror you are. So I toss it in the can. And now I've wasted cornbread, a styrofoam container, and half an hour of my life.

Oh, yeah. As much as wine, meeting people, and experiencing the wild blue yonder, this trip is about my head. And my head is full, people.

I can't seem to catch up with whatever agenda I'd set down for myself. What was it again? To write, to see the Western half of the Homeland and report back everything I've seen, take pictures of everything, talk to everyone, go to every winery, taste every wine, interview as many winemakers as possible while simultaneously working through my iminent divorce, death of my mother, come to terms with solitude and face my loss of faith in humanity....

Iminent. Was...was that a typo? Nice work.

So I'm at this wine dinner last night, and I'm looking through the wine list and notice that, under the category of Other World Reds is the 2004 Reverdy Sancerre. Thinking I've just spotting a heinous error, I quip to the table: "Wow. Who knew that the Reverdy Sancerre was a favorite in the 'old world red' category?"

"Actually," the winemaker for Cuvaison said, "Reverdy makes a Pinot Noir that's really nice."

Crap.

"Well, damn," I says, "Who knew I didn't know what I thought I knew?"

It earned me a laugh for being a sport.

Spending time away from a job, either with my self all on my own or interacting with other folks is teaching me more than I can process. It's both exausting and completely amazing. I just need to figure out how to slow down, let this stuff settle.

Sigh. I need a vacation.

T.