And how much grading did the writer/professor get done today? None. Not a single paper. Couldn’t believe how hot it was. Had a VIP tour this morning, with some people from SoCal. Had a great time, was beyond impressed with their familiarity with wine. Tonight, sipping a Sauv Blanc I bought over two months ago, I think, for a night Mom and Dad came over for dinner. 2010, really rooted in grapefruit, pine, grassiness, earth. Not quite my SB type, but I’m sipping it. Hot, downstairs. Feeling summer, already.
Finding out tomorrow, late afternoon [5:50p], if I get any classes for Fall ’13. Not sure what position to take. Part of me says take whatever they offer. Other, nothing below 1A. Can’t entrench now, have to act based on what I feel in moment. Going to take my papers again tomorrow. Hopefully I’m not on any groups, and can get through some of these 302 & 100 submissions. Can’t wait for the day when I don’t have to grade, when all I have to do is write, for me. And if I want to read, it would be on break from chipping away at a book, while on Road. What I want, closer, more than I before saw. Almost done with this SB glass.. need that last Racer in fridge.
They keep playing that Boston bombing footage on TV. Why is the media so shameless.. I honestly don’t understand it. Just looked at clock, 10:32pm. Why can’t I just do nothing on this couch, not write? Guess ‘cause I’m a writer. My own improbity, riotous. But tomorrow, its 5:50p, can’t stop thinking about. How should I react if I get nothing? Should I say something, or stay silent, react in writing? Latter, of course. Uncomfortable in this heat. If I were on an overnight, in Dallas say, like my sister, I’d sit on my balcony, with a glass of SB, stare into city lights, and just write. There’d be more material than I could handle, I’m sure.
The grading, haunting, taunting me. Watching news, weather portion.. says its 60 in Santa Rosa. Hogwash. Feels like 70-something in this condo. Pour little Kerouac, upstairs. Hope he’s comfortable in his cosy nest. Think I’m going to open the sparkling berry water I put in fridge.. that’s against compulsion, what’s better for character, session. Again, I need as much difference, CONTRAST, as possible.
I’m in rebellious pitch. And I need to be. Today’s tip, right to separatist fund. This morning’s drive, to work, juggling everything from thoughts of my office, to day I let all know I’m into Autonomy’s skate, to what poem I’ll next put to page, to wines mine [which I didn’t have to taste either, today]. to Ms. Plath’s journal entries. MY wine retaliation, consisting of only thought.. independent construction, reconstructions. I don’t have any mind for what They conveniently sculpt.
Can see where I use to park my car, right now [1st & Main, Napa], if I stare at something long enough.. I prefer not close eyes. Need that berry water– Still hot in this Room. This devil phone says 61. Not paying mind, but rather thinking of morrow’s morning mocha. Or maybe I should brew in-house, save funds for book. Have to keep reminding Self: I want to sell BOOKS. This blog, much a distraction, running downfield then again back. Dizzied.