Oh, how free I feel. And I’ll continue to drink this IPA, follow freely into Poe’s plea. I feel invincible, frankly. Yes, Hemingway served his own genre, but not like Poe. Death, it’s disclosure, so animated. So I return to my studies. Tired.. from the day. Tomorrow, Superbowl Sunday. Going to post a poem before I throw up this prose.
Too tired to type more for night.
2/2/14. And the Superbowl’s here. Jackie watches a cartoon, or some Disney Mickey Mouse piece, while I have the rain at my back, on the other side of the glass doors. Unexpected, these drops. I don’t recall hearing anything even hinting at a drops’ set, in the news or by route of rumor. Either way, it’s here. And I’m writing.
Going in late again today, just a bit, so I can get some more words into this semester’s book. Need to count the money in the Phil[osophy] book upstairs– all set aside for publication of poems collection.
Second cup, already, this A.M. These cartoons, or whatever they are, distracting me. That, an I can just a bit feel last night’s wines; the SB I had before dinner, and whatever Cabernet the waitress selected for me. The food was nice.. not exceptional by any means, but quite ambrosial.
No stories, really, in TR yesterday. Meant to taste through tanks at lunch, but was too hungry to do that. I’ll make point at some portion of today’s surely sluggish shift.. Oh, note: two nice people from the city yesterday, talking with on everything from Literature, Philosophy, wine [a bit], the environment, to topics random and scattered. By far my favorite characters of the day. Need more coffee… [Don’t let me forget: the Steinbeck MSS he suggested, the character from yesterday… Guess TS wrote a journal while he was writing one of his books. Definitely want to give that a read, or at least a quick skim.]