Just wanted to say I think it’s a good idea not to print anymore for this “novel”.  Or, of this novel.  Would rather re-write it anyway, for the most part.  My writing has to be in the moment.  Right then and there; Write then, there, in the Now.  Right and release.  And at my age, 32/33, that’s what has to happen.  And if I can’t execute, I should quit.  Seriously.  I hate going backwards, rereading something I wrote weeks, months, or Craft forbid years ago.  Should leave early tomorrow morning, buy mySelf some legal sheets from that market down the street from work.  Well, it’s not that “down-the-street,” really.  Why am I leaving punctuation inside the quote, there?  I’ve never had a firm grip on this, I’ll divulge, quotation marks and surrounding punctuation.  I hate punctuation, so I won’t obsess over it.  Which is a little pathetic, considering I’ve taught English at the college level, quite a few sections worth.

This project, bottledaux, opening itself for what?  I guess more experiences in the Wine, Literary worlds.  Time, 10:41p.  Should go to bed, but I wanted to type a little more, having left the keys on this home desk.  Miss the rain, I guess, a little.  Don’t miss commuting in it, please note.  Last night, or rather extremely early this AM, a biblical crack of thunder woke me, grumbling for minutes like an aggravated deity.  I went back to sleep fairly quickly, even though I sharply remember waiting for this next snap from the clouds.  Almost had the wherewithal to write for a couple minutes, just scribble that I was up, it was raining with weird force, and this may actually be a storm, the news didn’t exaggerate for once.  But no.  Back to bed.  Don’t need to buy legal pads.  Have enough paper, and not enough surplus to be buying writing supplies.  I’ll use what I have, live from the sheets already near, the canvases available.  Like a devout penman.  I think.  Or, like Kelly, with blank space before her, eager for her blend of tints, shade contrasts, imagination placement.

1/23/12, Monday