8:33PM.  Merlot from winery, tonight.  Tomorrow, running, even if it rains.  Actually, especially if it rains!  Never gone for a serious run while the clouds deliver their collective opera.

Sylvia, speaking to me, telling me to log more details.  Did quite well, I think, with a poem I wrote at work, on phone shamefully, while two wine club members (ones I like, actually) enjoyed their “reserve” pours.  Actually, only one did, Katy, as her husband doesn’t drink.

Was interesting watching the clouds collect over the valley, like a novel being written– or rather, short story.  Need another pour, and my burrito, quick, before late falls into this passage.  Up early in morrow, and I don’t have even a second to let, with all I have to get done for both classes.  Going to, literally, plan every minute of both sessions.


Just had the memory, again, of writing in my 1976 Super Beetle, at Foothill College, in heavy rain.  That set of downpours in ’98.  I remember driving home in that, how truly scared I was.


And dinner.  Peace for my night, down here.  Ms. Alice, tired from her day, upstairs asleep with little Kerouac.  I will force Self to have head in pillow before 10p, undoubtedly.  I guess this Merlot bottle’s one of those that went through the “Polar Vortex” that hit the East Coast, then was shortly thereafter returned.  Has a humbling voice, frankly.  And this is a 2010…  Nice.  May have to pour Self a slight cap before dormancy.


Want to be on assignment.. an investigative journalist like I urged my 100 students, yesterday.

Now in my descending dart.. 9:19PM.  Tomorrow’s story, already written,  After lectures, an immediate run.  I don’t care how hard it’s raining, or how tired the writer is– I’m out, stomping, for at least 5 miles, again.

Thinking of the ocean, from Half Moon Bay to Monterey.  Out, there..