untitled afternoon

6:26am.  Still very much feeling yesterday’s run with Carmen.  May do that again, on my own, to see how I do.  Loved the vineyards on all sides, to keep me pushed.  Was surprised, and I noticed this while running, how little I thought about writing.  Was pretty much with complete focus on the run.

Tired this morning.  Blaming the couple glasses I had last night, after nights of no wine at all.  Not sure I’m set on doing quite the extensive tasting I had planned for Self on Saturday night.  Maybe just open 1 bottle, sip slow, enjoy my scribbles, and/or types.

Back to sleep for about an hour, or so.  Then coffee.  Tonight, semester’s end.  Finally

8:37am.  Mood, venomous.  And not unexpectedly.  Has nothing to do with Jack, just to note.  Taking Life in the direction I want it to go.  No more settlement.  All desires, ambitions, visions, today annexed, captured.  Seizing control, with these pages, as if they’re my unusually aggressive militia.

First target:  the clock.  Time, ignored, attacked, concurrently.

Second:  Anything taking time from writing– social media, media, technology, useless social engagements; alcohol [beer, wine, for me], TV; even this laptop.  Right now, I should be penning my words, not bloody typing them.  Want to be more like my friend, who habitually vents, or “rants” as she says, in a journal.  Actual WRITING.

image: me, quiet room, sipping sparkling lime water, musically scribing in the Comp Book’s pages, filling many of them.  Only sound other than that point carving my thoughts onto lines? light Thievery Corporation

I’ll add other targets as I think of them.  Yes, this isn’t entirely, or at all really, “planned.” The whole point of this campaign is to acquire enveloping amaranthine, sweeping, freedom.  From everything.  Isn’t that what an Artist’s idealization is, or should be?  The unbridled, not far away.

“Logging off.” Hate that slimy, lazy phrase.

And I hate this laptop, even more.

Disposition repaired.  Morning mocha.  Only 2 shots, after all that coffee I had.  And, the writer sips slow.  Can’t wait to close semester tonight, start planning Fall, the semester to end all predictability.

1:01pm.  Back from bookstore run.  Debating which Poe text to use for Fall.  Not sure how to approach.  And if I should tackle him in 5, where he’d be 1 of 2 Authors of focus.  OR 1A, where he’d be 1 of 3.  Another target, just thought of, while driving back home: caffeine.  Going to attack my dependency.  There won’t be an utter eradication of my energy source, but definite temperament.

A little pain in right knee, on right side.  Good that I’m taking this day off, from running.  Thought about trying to fit a brief one in, before going to pickup papers tonight, but forcing Self to resist that urge.  Tired, wish I could nap.  Going to be odd, not having classes in eve, this summer.  But this is a positive.  More time to write, more time with little Kerouac.  Just remembered, need to upload some footage to winery’s site.. one minute–

Done.  Still haven’t taken Self from this cursed laptop.  Only letting Self have four lines in this paragraph.  No wine tonight, even though I have plenty reason to celebrate, with this term’s much-awaited death.  Hate how my body feels, now with this newly low tolerance, the next morning, even after having only a couple, 2 (!!!), glasses.  Devilish chemicals.  Would kill 4 a nap–

= magazine idea back again.. do i act on it?  wine, wine country, art, writing…