Officially started my typing for a PhD application. The Personal History Statement. UC Davis, if I remember, only allows 4,000 characters, including spaces. Which isn’t much. I already have over 1,000. Which isn’t much of a shock, knowing how obsessively, quick, I write.
Left work early today, around 3:30pm. Now, finally having a chance to write. Sipping some of the Meritage I brought home. Only letting Self type with this sitting. Then to newJournal. Since I didn’t make it to my café yesterday, live as Hemingway did, I shall tonight. Only sipping wine, scribbling my lines. As simple as possible. Have EH’s letters at my left.. hoping to dip into them tonight as well. With TV off! Anymore, I hate the television, nearly all shows it punctuates through its devilish screen. And people like me, with my aims, don’t have time for that devil box.
My students, this semester, many scrambling to finish their college applications. Then soon after, they wait for response, watching the mailbox, for that little wheeled cart to stop before it, the arm reach out with a little envelope brick. That’s what I want. And I’ve always told students that you can write your way out of, or into anything. Shared that thought with yet ANOTHER graduate student today, also interested in teaching. She currently student-teaches while earning her M.A. at St. Mary’s in Moraga. Can’t remember the specifics of her focus, but I do, still, appreciate the impassioned octave within which she voiced everything. That’s what I have, once again. And at this point in my Life, I’ll devote everything to my teaching practice, literature, and moreover.. the WRITING.
This bottle, more illustrative than other bottles of this wine I’ve before opened. Perfect for this evening’s sitting. But it would certainly pair better with ink than this oblongly stalling laptop. I swear, I hate this thing more everyday. Only using it when I have to, from now on. Seriously. Know I’ve said that before, or something like it.. but I’m quite serious this time. In the newJournal, centralized my thinking, energies, by making a list of everywhere my words go. Only 7 items so far, which includes the journal itself.
Attempting a book club with one of my coworkers. Our first project, my selection, A Movable Feast. Of course, by Mr. Hemingway. I’m glad I was allowed the choice of our first book, as I am allowed to travel back to Paris through EH’s memoir.
Poured my last glass… Trying to think of anything else worthy of key pushes, from day. Nothing rattles me now– Well, was going to taste through the tanks at lunch, with Blair, but I never took a lunch. I need to get better about that. I deserve a lunch, everyday. I need to just take one. So all those wines, at that stage in their growth, at that time, whenever I would have taken lunch, can never again be experienced. Will do so then on my own, Friday.
note: The wine now develops a rolling gallop of floral pulses. Is that strange for a Bordeaux blend?
note: Don’t burn yourself out too quick with the writing for the PhD applications. Take your time. The writing you submit has to be the best you’ve ever put into another’s hands.
note: This quiet downstairs. My glass, the plastic stemless, perches on the counter, next to the coffee machine [Keurig]. Can’t wait for my morning cups. It was said rain would greet us all tomorrow, promised by the weather drones, but you know how that many times results. Hope I wake at 5am, or earlier. Haven’t run in I-don’t-know-how-long. So at the very least, or as amiable substitution, I can write in harsh hours.
Time to edit, time to sip. Then to journal [no longer calling it newJournal, as it’s not so new, in my view].