Love this café. Surely my most anchoring, centering writing spot. Today, especially busy. But I shouldn’t be writing here. I should finishing a poem I wrote last night, beginning and finishing 2new ones here. That was/is my mission.
The coffee today, not as rich, dimensional, interesting as I remember. Okay, okay.. I’m to paper. I promise…
But the typing feels so natural. Now I have to use the restroom. Don’t want to lose this corner table. Yes, the muffin as well.. not impressive. Much too dry, as I wrote in today’s thousand. I’m on day17. Project ends on 31. I’ll edit, print, copy, sell. What’s the point of the project, what’s the involved “message”? Don’t know. I’ll let the reader decide.
12:59PM. There may be something to these streaks. Not sure. Now I feel like a glass of wine, here. Haven’t looked at their selection closely, but I do know they have some St. Francis Chardonnay, my sister’s bottle. Could be a possibility.
Okay.. pen, paper, poems. Going…..
1:40PM. 3 poems, done. Now, just to type, print. What a Literary, scholastic day it’s been for the writer. Where to now? About that Chardonnay.. no. Budget tight. And yes, I blame that bean brothel. Thin budget for tonight’s eats. Alice took care of most, just now have to pickup a couple additional pieces at store, Oliver’s. Oh, when did I park? 2 hour zone.. bloody Cotati. What do they think this is, the City? Restroom, then leave. Didn’t finish muffin, plain and styrofoam-y as it was. Oh but a glass of wine sounds wonderful– crisp, lightly oak’d Chard… Maybe I should go tasting, go by my friend’s place on Railroad Square.. Ideas. Loving them. Almost as much as
1/1/14. Starting with a 5k, with Alice & Kerouac. Then, to Starbucks for coffee visit. Mine, I have to say, not that impressive. Too sweet. And now, I type. In this newest of years. Had a compulsion to start a new short story, but I’m resisting. I’m following with the poems, the 1,000 words/day.
Cold this morning, on the 5k dash. Surprised how quickly I completed. Can get my official time at some point today, but I think I finished in just under 25 minutes, averaging just over an 8-minute mile.
Little Kerouac, asleep upstairs, for now. Only objects onto which I can lock are all the toys about this condo castle’s bottom floor. Evidence of his energy, curiosity, toddler attention span. On Monday I think I’ll cruise down to the café, spend at least two hours there. But if I do, I’ll have to go move my car before that second hour, so I’m not ticketed. I’ll make a three-page dent in the Plath article, for the PhD app.
Trying this new coffee I bought last night at Whole Foods, down the street, this ‘Black Silk’ by Folgers. Nice. Reminds me of the café’s coffee. When it’s good, that is. Wonder what I should do after class’ first day– What is that, ‘I wonder’. I know just what I’m going to do, write, and so more for the PhD. But what else should I do? Would love to write at Jackson’s, on West 4th. One of the adventures I will always afford mySelf: writing from different scenes. And I know they have a couple of my preferred beers there, so I could celebrate semester’s liftoff with an afternoon pint, a new poem or 2, 3. Oh, that actually sounds good, right now– an afternoon pint. No longer thinking of the short fiction pages.. only my curved verbs,
the rushed pages that
verse rescues so