8:05AM.  Slept in.  Time for run with family.  3 days till 35…

11:48AM, and I realize that I have so much to get done before the semester starts.  But I refuse to stress.  Even a microscopic amount.  Hot outside, surprising temperature for so early.  When we finished our run, it was already 76, so the car stated.  Little Kerouac playing, hard to finish anything solidly.  Waking early tomorrow, to write, my day’s three pages.  While jogging just ahead of Alice and Jack, I thought again about the prospect of a full-time position.  I’m looking in neighboring states, looking to explore Literature for as many hours a week, for the rest of my life, as I presently spend pacing behind that bloody bar.

Little Kerouac down for his nap, and I can begin enjoying thought, maybe a little jazz, low volume.  And with looking out-of-state, I imagine our house, the backyard in which little Kerouac plays.

The pile of papers, not as menacing as I thought.  Not sure what to do with the ‘100’ section, as the collective performance was rather slouching, frankly.  But my hands are more than tied, they’re numb.  I can only do what they, the students, have allowed me to do.. they don’t submit, I can’t grade.  But I continue with what I’m doing.. teaching, exchanging the ideas surrounding text…

Sipping this Wild Berry bottle.. nice, no caffeine, I’m even, not feeling internally rushed.  The coffee is nearly always like needed fuel for me to be the writing engine as whom I want people to estimate me, but it can disrupt, push me faster than I can write.  35, I need everything even.. running more, less wine and artisan beer.. wake early, before the magic 5AM.. 4:30, if you can.  The harsh hour can only force your mind to dig for Newness of ideas, what’ll give way to rich prose for the shelf, for your MSS.