At home working on my syllabi, Alice taking Jack to his friend Addison’s house to give me some time to work, bless her… Easy drive home, no traffic at all, none. Finishing this coffee, then to a beer which I’ve been craving for the last two days. Still very much feel the 9.3 miles, very much. Wanted to take a nap like Alice but couldn’t even if I wanted to as little Kerouac was still very much in his demanding standing, “Play, daddy, play!” So I did, and now I think of how to make this semester one for me, more than for the students. Of course I want to “teach” and show the matriculants new ways of looking at Literature but how do I make it more for me, how do I change my life and my story and the intensity and meaning of my existence? I’ll see, I’ll take some brief notes, and explore my owning notings. I’ll have to print the syllabi copies, at least those for 1A, the 7AM(!!) section at some point tomorrow after work. And I will, straight from work going to the copy place on 4th then back home to pack bag, again lightly (will travel light this entire term, a difference), then to early bed, ready, and I will fill that tumbler with the most extreme of coffees, more than likely the Pike, but have it to top, no “room” as they say.
Still feeling run, so very much. Why has it hit me with this intensity, this time? Maybe as I didn’t sleep that well last night. Next time, on the next overnight, wherever it is, I’ll bring my own pillows, sure that’ll help. One other detail from this morning I forgot to cite was the fog, in the park mainly, and how the pockets kept trapping me at the beginning of the race, even forcing me to run onto the side of the road with one of my little skipjumps that Alice always laughs at. But not at all hindering, as I always was able to establish my own pocket, and at the end of the race a couple trying to dash past me, and I let them for a minute, fooling them into seeing me as a dying engine, but then I shot past them with an furiously electric gallop they weren’t prepared for. I want to run around Petaluma tomorrow, I mean Tuesday, after class, around the campus and maybe up whatever street that is that runs into Petaluma Hill Rd, maybe just an hour run, or 45 min. But right now I can’t imagine running, honestly. Ugh, hate that I’m so tired, and that I’m not typing as fast as usual. Tomorrow in the goddamn tasting room, I’ll write both lectures, or take the notes, or those in addition to anything I write tonight. Have to go pickup dinner.. but not hungry after the late lunch we had, sandwiches from Oliver’s– I feel a mess right now, honestly, and I don’t like it, at all. Should switch to poetry later, write something that can stand on its own and be performed, read, to music, jazz then.. yes now I come awake with my deflated slate, think about writing a poem in that bar, in Union Hotel, at the bar itself while people sit around me and drink and talk and/or stare at the screen, highlights from today’s football games, or watch one that still might be on. Frustrate now and for what reason. I’ve had a wonderful day with Ms. Alice and now home with my son, why the sludge in my sight and this ephemeral edge, at least I hope it’s short-lived. I’m not in the shape for some internal skirmish.. go for a drive, I tell myself, go to the restaurant, order dinner, wait and have a beer and write a couple words, whatever lands, and stick, and provokes.
I’ll write one when there, on the first object or character that calls, but I have to be in the territory of bar, and after I order an IPA.

And I did write a poem at the bar but my little pages are upstairs. I’ll type it tomorrow morning, before prose, or I’ll try. Here in nook with nightcap, my streets in that neighborhood, Japantown, calling me, wanting me back, or the neighborhood through which Alice and I walked last night, to our restaurant; new topics sprout– sidewalk discoloration and wear; the uphill facet and consistency of SF, how I love it; and those buildings, the building that make me dizzy if I look to their topfloors, closer I get to Market and Union Sq. Sipping my Racer 5 I dream of the Road, other hotels I’ll frequent, write in, shower in, how the towels will feel, what tables I’ll place my laptop on, or write in my Comp Book, what the lobby will smell like, what the color layers will be and what the elevator will look like and what views I’ll have from my floor. Last night I was, we were, lucky, with that view of the heart of Japantown and Sutter St. and the people walking through that narrow plaza. Last night and this morning, I experienced Newness, difference, Life like I never have; that windmill, the waterfall, the expansive lawns, trees, the smells of those leaves at the end of the run (can’t be sure what trees they were coming from as I was looking at the ground at that point). I’ve found something in SF, my city, where Dad was born, and with this trip! I grew up just south of there, and visited ridiculously often after I turned 21, relying on North Beach for social circles and meetups and parties. Now, I’m an agin writer, never more desperate for material and pages and characters. Today’s characters: all on phones, or most of them, after the run at the afterparty if that’s what you’d call it, on phones, taking “selfies” (can’t believe that’s a word now)… Sick. I don’t want that in my story, in my vision. In fact, I may outlaw cell phones in my office, when there, on the Sonoma Square, and yes that’s what I’ve settled upon. Right off Spain…