7:59am.  Home sick today.  No way I’m going in.  Want to be fully alive for tomorrow’s rough draft workshops.  Not sure if I’m taking little Kerouac to his daycare fort today.  If I do, then I’ll get most of the 41pg piece done, I’m sure.  And if not, I’ll wait till he sleeps, here.  These vignettes I’ve been penning at work.. goldmine.  And I love how everyone carefully skates around me, watching me record surroundings.  Couple times, one’ll ask,  “What are you writing?” Or, “What are you writing NOW?” OR, “What are you always writing about?” What I get from this, gratification’s puddle-wise: I’m seen as a writer, ALWAYS writing.. recording surroundings.

Still no word from Ms. Lisa–

Just heard.  She’ll be crediting our account.  So the little Artist with me here remains.  Relief, as I don’t have to leave the castle.  Keeping Self writing, recording whole day.. imagining Road.  Coffee cup3.  Don’t judge

me

please.

Looking for online resources.  Memoir, poetry.  For both classes.  Think this to be the logical transition before Plath, Poe, respectively [Eng 5 then 1A].  While the Artist sleeps, his nap time less than 4 hours away, I’ll also be “backing-up” all writings on this device.  Soon, I’ll be solely pen, paper.  Then to typewriter when time to finalize manuscripts.  From these vignettes.  Outside, overcast.  Me, not feeling well presently.  Hard to write, actually.  But I have to force Self.  That’s the genre, MY genre.. in that “obsessiveness.”

Yesterday, day broken up by return to home, since I felt cold-stricken.  Quick nap, lay on upstairs sheets, then return to tasting Room.  I did feel better, but still not full Self.  Today, I believe I’m paying for my work return.  I’ll just hole Self here, in castle with little Kerouac.  And now,

time for a sip

from 3rd cup.

 

two sips in, i’m fenced by

my own intent–

i’m intentioned

i think

 

9:46am.  Think I’ve been up since 4-something.  And as it happens, the writer may enjoy a 4th cup.  Keep the obsession trellising.  My vignettes from the last couple weeks, the observations of both guest and fellow-employee, mounting.  Soon, a book.  One that changes everything.  All this.  More peace, Autonomy about my day.  My characters, coming to life.  As

am

I.

 

Taking a break from the keys to play with little Kerouac.  But then he walks away, to play with toys on the Room’s other side.  So I’m back to typing.  Waiting a bit before next cup.  And he returns to side of the floor…

When he’s finally asleep, I’ll go through these vignettes about which I’m so excited.  Also need to draw up budget.  Transfer money into Schwab1 acct.  Pay cable bill.  Always something for the writer to do.  Want to take care of all this “responsible” nonsense so I can clearly commit to page.

10:33am.  Just did a rough budget.  So thankful for the teaching income, I can’t even tell you.  But I’d appreciate my money stream even more so enhanced, by chapbook sales.  So today, one new standalone piece.  Flash fiction.  After these words are “posted” to this abominable blog.  (9/16/13)