9/3– Three days into the ninth month. Progress, that’s all I’ll allow mySelf to see. Today’s lectures, reflecting same. Into the morning’s first coffee cup. Alarm sounded at 5:15a. I woke, tried talking Self into a write, but went back to sleep. Just need to keep Self in habit of waking at that hour. No evidence of last night’s Chardonnay. So pleased I forced Self into those two heated cups.. though I really wasn’t ‘forced’, I’d say. And anyone knowing me, knows I’ll always side with coffee over wine. Always.
Anymore, wine’s distanced from my sittings. From me. Yes, I’ll have a couple occasional glasses, and there I’ll leave. Want to be speedy writer, not one altered by some chemical compound one shoved into a bottle.. and self-boasts an Artist. I don’t align with those shapes.
Planning the 1A section down to the minute, tonight. Needed. Saving Faulkner’s works for session’s end. Going to move backwards, in a manner, I guess you’d say.
More coffee sips for the writer. More cups. Thinking of starting the 5 session with group activity, refocus on community.
11:46am. In a student lounge, on third floor of Doyle Hall, just a couple doors down from Eng5 Room. Ready for class, finally. Finishing 3shot mocha, thinking about rest of day. Want to get haircut, but don’t know how I’ll fit that in. If I drive straight there, I may be able to squeeze in.
Hear several voices, steps in hall. Think class is out, the one that was being held in our Room. What do now, this writer? Return this device to car, settle in Room early. Beat them there. Want to travel light throughout term, stay speedy. Feeling uneasy in this Room, unexpectedly. Need air, walk to car to shed this screen, these keys.
10:25pm. Depleted. No wine. Running tomorrow morning, alarm set. Also planning for jaunt with Carmen later in day. Think I have the writing routine that will finally finish these projects for me. Flash fiction, very much a part of the 41-page piece. So lovely to capture moment in little space. More comfortable for readers, I think.
TV on mute. Pleasant, finally. Don’t want to hear anymore voices. Done4DAY, definitely. Only want to note a bit on character [Kelly] before sleep. Her studio, her wardrobe.. simple but artful, sightly, chic, splendidly situated. Her music, wine affinity, end-aims.. everything. I need to know her better. Saw a short piece I wrote about her in 2010. Not bad.. but I need to give her more life. Ask mySelf the most detailed, unexpected yet precise questions about this young lady, who hasn’t left my Literary image levy since I thought her, back in ’10.
10:30pm. Only allowing Self 10 mins more2WRITE. But I don’t think I have the energy for that, even. Price of a long day. Not sure I want to write much more. Have to put Self out of writer’s tilt, and into runner’s. Only want to do about 3 miles tomorrow, if I can. Then, 6+ with Carmen after work. My 7-mile uphill rush through Annadel, only 5 days away. This run, to be my most hardy test. Not at all worried.. as I urged the English 5 students tonight, in the Pedagogy blog post: balance. I’ll set reasonable pace, budget my intervals, sprints. Off to bed, for morrow’s run. One last sip of sparkling lemon water…
9/4/13– Woke at 5:15a, but no run. Should have at least written something. Shame, this morning. Sipping the café mocha, wondering what’s ahead of me in the tasting Room. Not in the mood, honestly. Jack, over by window singing. A dollar a day, like Uncle Scooter. Going to restart that, immediately. Get my house, our house, and free’d from this HOA-ruled condo complex.
After work, won’t accept less than 7 miles. Or 6.. 6 miles, more reasonable, as I haven’t had a rewarding run in some time, it feels. Tomorrow morning, again 5:15am. If I don’t run, then WRITE, you bloody writer. Write something. Anything to keep you awake, used to the early rises. That’s the issue, I believe.. I’m simply not used to such a harsh waking. No wine, that IS helping with me actually coming to clear conscious when alarm sounds.
Also bringing newJournal with me to work. Will write in break room while lunching. Poetry, this next class set. Also, a couple assignment handouts.. one for journal sub1, other for essay1. Semester, moving quick. Need to intensify my writing efforts for my treasured sections. Especially if it’s to carry me to where I need be.
Outside all boxes..
offer to students–
instill, don’t let them be taken
by others at
class front.
teach them to speak,
louder louder.
No gray. Sky, bluer than I’ve seen in a few days. Should be playing with little Kerouac. Why am I writing right now? This is obsessive, addiction. Activity like I don’t know. Yesterday, a colleague called me “quite an active writer.” Another compliment, like Crystal’s the other day. I’m only enabled, empowered.
Flash Fiction notes–
“Where is Tom?”
“I saw him a couple minutes ago. He said he was going upstairs, to find some older vintage or something.”
“Good. I hope he gets lost. For a while.”
“Why, what happened?”
8:13am. So far, day’s pace, all to the writer’s favor. No 2nd cup. Not yet. Want to get this collective entry past 1,000 words. All I can think, this morning.. poetry.. notes… Antithetically full-sentence. Tired of convention. I know precisely what I want, what I need to have full Equilibrium. And I know how to get it.
I will get it.
Downstairs, going for 2nd cup. All I want from today.. material, and exceptional run. If for some reason Carmen can’t go, as she hasn’t been feeling well of late, I’ll go by Self. Lawndale– actually, a derivation thereof.
With 2nd café mocha. Reminds me of the hot chocolates I used to get with Dad, when I was a lad wee, in Sunriver. Miss the times up there. Would love to have a weekend to Self, or maybe a week, see what I compose. NO WINE.. just caffeine. There, by the Deschuttes woods. Time 8:22am. Letting Self leave at 8:50-8:55. No music on.
Sometimes I need
it
that way.
Silence for more introspection. Not ‘psychoanalysis’, as we discussed last night in class. How else could I word it.. introspective interrogation.. meditative mediation– huh, somewhat take to that word arrangement. Will check with students, see what they think, what wording they prefer.
Much I don’t want to, should stop with these types, re-read these entries, throw onto blog. Simplify, I keep telling Self.. simplify. Before I leave, I’m throwing away three envelopes that came with past bills, that now litter this finally-liberated desk’s top. Another thing 2do: plan term’s vestige, all the way up to week 18, or 19.. however many we have. Want the students to know precisely where we’re headed.
And they
will.
blogs
chapbooks
book by semester’s end