Week2, beginning in morrow.  Waking early, or going to try.  Sipping Chardonnay tonight, if you can believe.  One tour today, then shift’s remainder.. a bland stale cracker.  The pedagogy blog, continuing with its traction, attraction.  Thinking–no, KNOW–this a direction new for my term.  May take a couple assignments off syllabus schedule.  Why?  To make the progression more palatable for the student.  Think the Chard may be catching the writer, so I should watch what I say.  Time, 10pm, pre-cise.  Now I need to think about the next page.. always have mind on next page, next project.. what’s ahead.

Starting tomorrow’s Eng5 session with one question: “What is Capote’s voice looking like?” It’s question ambiguous, yes, but immediate, visual, personal.  Why does he have the tone he does.. his apparent ‘attitude’, if that make sense.  MY book will be done by term’s end, on teaching, why Lit teachers do what WE do, why Literature does what it does; How someone lives in complete Literary architecture, armor.

Glass, now empty.  The writer, in Poe mode, needing night’s cap.  More Burgundy, or otro Torpedo?  Not sure I’m up for decision-making.  Want to enjoy my evening, my pseudo-Friday night.

10:30pm.  Torpedoed.  Wanted to write ‘Torpedo’d’, as it looks more cinematic, but I had to be proper, for 1nce in Life.  Re-watching last episode of ‘Following’.  Love Joe Carroll’s character, thought transitions, methodology [except the cruelty, killing of course..].  So glad I picked Poe for this term, for Eng1A section.  Tomorrow, has to be more forceful, animated than the first 2sessions.  Need to halt this session, so I can finish the last minutes of that Poe documentary I found.  Starting to truly find mySelf as an Author, Thinker, Educator.  And I must say.. it feels amazing.  No–  ‘sending’. I’ve been sent.  To the NEW Me.  My Newness.  It’s here.  I shouldn’t have to stress.  About anything.  Another sip.  The writer becomes another writer.  One on some track– his track.

How is it almost 11pm?  Need to shutdown this device.  Enjoy my sips.  Realizing now, for the first time [shamefully], the true might of manuscripts.. words.  My students this semester, have no idea what’s at their bow.

8/27–  Minimalist packing today, for campus.  Stronger writers embrace less, leap loaded light.  Just went outside to place bottles into recycling, reminded of cold conditions on drive to box, Napa’s downtown, when I’d ride with A2, office’s other Adrianna.  Also thought of Sunriver mornings, with poured atmospheric chill into/onto skin; seeing breathing, aside coffee’s airborne pattern; on bench, just outside convenience store, hear automatic doors behind me; walk aback home, should only take a couple minutes, maybe 10.. I’ll extend to twenty, stroll by that gated neighborhood by golfcourse–  My visions pulling writer’s leash.

8:12pm.  I mean ‘A.M.’.  Ready for classes, for the most part.  Simplicity, today.  Bringing only the Jen bag, with graded papers, the Capote books, Comp Book.  For 1A, also addressing flash fiction, the sometimes invisible border between fict & non.  Already getting nervy.  Calming Self, realizing it’s only week2.  Two books: one before term’s end, one just after (obviously needed the wrap up for final “chapters”).

Didn’t visit wines yesterday.  And I’m glad I didn’t.  Want to give them time to rest, develop as they want.  Don’t want to rush or force them, at all.  Want to treat them as Autonomous entities.  Too much wine”making”’s a negative, I think.

But returning to Literature, as that’s the day’s mode.. need my 3shot mocha.  The coffee’s not putting me into proper character.  Just noticed how tight funds are with the writer.  Paid this Friday–  Coming to an end, soon, depending on checks, like I’m a child done with chores, waiting for payment.. or allowance.  Should be able to pay mySelf, make my OWN money, especially if all these self-employed pierrots can make their own operations.

Quiet in condo, right before launch.  Computer stalling in between ‘Save’’s.  Not letting it get to me.  Need to get a cartridge for upstairs printer.  Would print day’s roster, but can’t.  Wonder how much it is per page at Petaluma Campus Library.  Guess I’ll find out.

Budget for rest of week.. all the 1’s I have in work bag, the loose change.  For gas, coffees, any snacks on main campus before class.  Thinking again about office, MY office.  How to get there.  What I need 2do.  Have to let the 200+ page book idea go, for now.  Need to MAKE these pages generate currency.  Start with small releases.. what I’ve been telling Self for years.  So WHY has the writer not executed?  Why do I keep jumping between projects?  Wandering.. need answers now.  This semester, the one changing everything in my Life, to make it what I want it 2B.. what I NEED it to be.. how I want my son 2seeME.

9:41am.  Why does it feel so much later?  Must be the coffee, curving my conception of time.  Taking break from keys.. be back.

9:36pm.  Sipping some Century Vine Zin from Estate.  Another rich set of sessions, today/tonight.  Just posted again to pedagog’ blog, for 2nd time today.  Would write for small release, or some book..something [was going to write ‘project’’].  Just enjoying the freeness of this blog–or LOG–freewrite.  Pain in right leg, on right side of knee.  Don’t know if it’s a tendon or what.. but it smarts, for sure.  hoping tonight’s sleep rids me.  Of whatever it bloody is.  Lawndale again tomorrow, hopefully with Ms. Carmen.  Quite pleased with Sunday’s sprints, but I need tomorrow 2B better.  One last Zin glass, then sparkling water.

Last glass, poured.  Can’t believe I’m sipping Zin.  And Chardonnay last night.  Out of character, for sure.. which is Newness, just what the writing needs.  So, the writer accepts.  Tomorrow, visiting both barrels.  And I really should, as they may need a topping.  And this Zin, telling me to not neglect my wines.  EVER.  So I won’t.  Tomorrow, meeting them at lunch.

With this last glass, think rhyme.  Had one while pulling into driveway.. what was it– “…Dionysus, twice and thrice’s, despite the vices, imbibe the wises..” Something to that hue.  Not sure.  But I LOVE how wine pushes me to poetry, alwayz, predictably.  41 pages.. could sell that.. poetry, prose.. need to live by pen.  And what if I did, “all-of-a-sudden?”

Almost to 1k for day.  Not going to lie, this CV Zin’s slowing the scribe.  9:59pm.  Run tomorrow.. need this knee to be situated more agreeably.  The Road, waiting for me.  My office, too.  But where is it?  The other day, thought about Railroad Square as a location quite prime for this scribe–  Should prepare for bed, dumping the rest of this Zin.  But I won’t.  When on the Road, can’t wait for the runs I’ll take, what I’ll see.  No music in ears.  Minimalist, no device dependency.

Hear the news in the other Room.  In a hotel, on Road, I’d watch.. nothing.  Only music, wine, open sliding glass door, oceanic audible folds.  Just heard that the fire around Yosemite grows horrifically.  Would hate to see such, but would grow from experiencing such, writing about it.  Get out of any BOX.

You know what I would love right now.. some DARK chocolate.  Wish I had a couple of the squares we have in the TR, with the seemingly microscopic sea salt strands.  Still can’t get over the Zin sips.. and b4 that CHARDONNAY!  How?  IS my Bordeaux-based palate changing?  Don’t want to think about it.

Can’t wait for morning coffee, when little Kerouac wakes.