3:57pm.  Writing, prepping, at Mom and Dad’s.  Didn’t want the noise at Starbucks nor the incarceration of that shared adjunct office.  So, I look out over the canyon, just beyond the deck.  That hill, so intensely green, the Mayacamas, the thick forest.

4pm.  Need some music, to relax before class tonight.  Only 1 class in Fall.  That’s all I’m willing to take.  Want to spend more time with little Kerouac, as he maniacally sheds his littleness.  And I don’t have any idea what to type after these expressions, as I’m well beyond 1,000 words for day.

When should I leave?  Don’t want to.  Just want to stare up at those mountains, those tree clusters.  Writing, often doing just this, getting in living’s way.  So, stopping–

9:55pm.  Eating the quiche from last night, Alice’s creation.. theatrically tasty.  Anyway, tonight’s classes, the workshops on Essay 2, the autobiographical piece, where they experienced something, or a string of somethings, that shaped their character today.  The mood I had earlier, left as soon as I landed on campus, even more when in the classRoom, hearing my students writing.  Motivated by some of the pieces I heard.  The lives that these students have lived makes me feel sheltered, like I haven’t lived, questioning the story I have to tell.  I need to struggle, hurt more.  But I can’t afford it, now, now that little Kerouac depends on my labor’s fruits.  But that’s where fiction comes into play, I’ll make it up.  Just have to research.

Watching the news, as I always do.  Current story, on arming at least one person in every school in America.  Huh.  Don’t see mySelf carrying a gun to campus, ever, but anyway…  Hope it rains again soon.  That thunder, lightning, the other day had me thinking of Sunriver, summers I used to spend there, when a kid.  Was surprised how wet I got when jogging through those drops.  Or, not so much a surprise, as the drops felt malt ball-esque in size.  Need to be in bed soon, less that 40 minutes.  Long day, in morrow.  Waking early with Alice, Kerouac.  Then, to winery.  Under tent.  Again.  This remodel, all entailed in terms of product arrangement, marketing, and [dare writer say] social media, has taught quite a bit.  AND, most importantly, armed me with MORE manuscript ammo.

Pianos on news, some famous Bay Area shop closing– or rather, changing hands, ownership.  Notes.. makes me think of the notes offered from my wines.  Need to top them, both, tomorrow.  Should probably try to get there early.  If I drop J off at Ms. Lisa’s at 8:30a, sharp [daycare], I could get there at 8:45, at the latest.  That’d give me plenty of time.  But IF I go back west on 12 to get a coffee at the Safeway Starbucks, on Calistoga, as I did last time I dropped off my beloved little Artist, then I’ll get there around 9:10a.  Never enough time to do something for me, it sometimes seems.  I’ll have to forgo the sbux, I guess.  Hope there’s some palatable coffee on the 3rd floor, as there has been in many recent weeks, with that new machine.  -10:41pm

(4/2/13)