Little Kerouac, down for his nap. Spread on couch, laptop on actual lap, looking outside. My phone says it’s 68. Cooler than yesterday. Nice walking weather. Maybe I’ll get one in on Saturday, after work. Not planning on meeting anyone downtown till about 9 or so. So I’ll have a chance to take mySelf out to dinner, which means takeout, enjoy some wine and writing, then do whatever.
Time, 12:45pm. Feel like a nap. Afraid to walk upstairs to check monitor. I’d walk right by his door, maybe wake him. And, why sleep when I could be writing, inventorying poems [which, by the way, I’ve been doing.. have 10 so far today.. starting to love reading through my old works], studying French. But I’m allowed to rest, right? Even with the kind of writer I am? Stuck, stalled. But a nap sounds so good right now. If Jack slept for an hour, that’d put me at about 2. Alice’ll be home around 3, she said. Just thought, maybe I should nap down here. I’ll hear him waking, with the monitor still on full volume. That’s just what the writer’ll do. Off to nap…
4:32pm. In office, campus. All ready for classes, I think. That nap, so odd. Both Jack and I fell asleep for nearly 2 hours. When I woke, I heard nothing, forgot where I was, what I was doing. I went upstairs to look at the monitor, saw him asleep. Opening the door slowly, I saw him lying there, snoring like a hibernating grizzly. I stepped backwards, slow, to bathroom. Splashed water on my face, walked in again, and the little bear had woken. What an odd time transition. How did that much time pass? How did we BOTH sleep for so long? Guess we both needed it. I still can’t get over it. Feeling it so odd.
Before going into the 302 class, I want a few more words in BOOK. This weekend, I want the first half, 103 pages total, printed, ready to read. It won’t be done by Mom’s birthday, 4/14. But I WILL have it done by 4/30. Or at least by last class, so I have something to show my students. Again, I owe it to them.
Want to show them I can do more than just teach. I can DO.
Gatsby, the ending, also has me thinking. Tragedy, characters flawed yet so interesting. IS that how I’m seen? Flawed? I don’t want to ever be seen as tragic. So, I need to intensify, further centralize these efforts. INTO BOOKS! God, why is that so hard for me, a “writer,” to do?
Tonight’s 100 lecture, I’m sure will get my students motioned. Especially with the consideration of deconstruction, an address of Derrida, opposites (or “binaries” as I put in last session). This is what I lecture on at Stanford, someday. If they’d let me. Cubist exploration of layered transcending text.
Closing laptop. Pen, paper. Need to prep a little more. But I need more pep. May let the 302 class go early, so they can find a topic, begin their steps towards an argument. The semester closes, with only 10 regular sessions left. 11 counting tonight. 12 counting finals night, which I won’t, don’t.