[11/15/12] Little Kerouac’s 9th month on planet, today. Much more important than entanglements with tech. His vocal tendencies, much more frequent. Everything from attempted sentences to pseudo songs. He’s mentally alive. Continuously optimistic in a way I think I’m no longer capable of, given my age. Now, 9:56p, he’s upstairs, asleep, more than likely dreaming of his toys, or food, or walks in his parent-pushed vehicle. And me, now, somewhat more calm, with laptop. Yes, I know, it’s technically TECH, but I need to upload to blog. NO, I don’t “need” to.. I WANT to. What am I doing, reader? Just enjoying the freeness of session. Novel’s rough draft, only lines away from completion. Was going to write “fruition,” but that can only apply to final final drafts, in my mind. Quiet, in this Room. Can only think of song, readings not 2 far away. Need a break, collect Self–
The co-worker’s comment 2day, of me being an “amazing writer…” Don’t see Self as anything elevated. I do want to be there, but I’m not yet, I feel. How do I get there, reader? I guess keep writing, till something magnetizes mass. Just found self distracted by this new device. I can’t leave it alone. This is a problem, a definite threat to my pages. Should rest, like my little thinker upstairs.
Just remembered, I also lost some writings in the old phone. A string of haikus, and old entries I typed while waiting for Adrianna, when we carpooled to the box. I knew it was a mistake leaving those thoughts there. Why didn’t I transfer them? So anti-Literary. Shameful. No more behavior like that from me, reader. That I’m sewing here on this page, screen. Need to get this device running, so I can make it work4ME. I don’t work for it, just as this writer skips for no serpent supervisor.