3.22.14.  And I wake to allergy onslaught.

3.23.14.  Same.  As if the once-deflective sphere surrounding me had left.  The allergies and I are certainly engaged in an angry tussle, this season.  Just made a cup of coffee.  Tried to get some more sleep, but my thoughts demand immediacy.  Yesterday was maniacal at the winery, only incensing me, pushing me deeper into writer thought.  I WILL lock myself in library tomorrow, between classes…  And there, 3 pages will be written.  All fiction.. pushing characters towards final chapters.  And I have to ask myself, as I urged my students ask themselves:  What do I want, at this book’s close?  What is the intrinsic intention behind this semester?

Another goal for library:  Push more poems, any you can find, into chapbook.  It’s time  my label finally launches.  The waiter last night asked me what my label was, after disclosing I’ve made wine in the past.  I politely, but firmly, stopped him, told him I only make wine for fun.  That I’m a writer.  But, I also thought, putting foils on my friends bottles the other day, as he has his own “label”.. My brand needs a shove.  And it starts with tomorrow, tomorrow’s library session, the writing.. and anything else I can bring into momentary standalone.

Time to get ready for work.  But I need to finish this coffee.  I need energy.  And I need today to be much less cyclonic than yesterday.  And I also need to hold myself to the standard of writing more at work, then transferring those notes into the fiction.

The morning was gaining, he had to rise.  But the scene demanded defiance.  He couldn’t, he thought.  Mary would be there today, Sunday, her Monday, and he wanted to help.. But he knew he needed to help himself, more.  If he was to ever get out.