052814 Chorus

8:46AM–  The other day, I think it was Sunday– yes it was– when Blair told me in a text, “Stop over-thinking wine.” He’s right.  And in such elevation, I won’t OVERthink today.  At all.  Day before 35, I’m letting it progress, the story, of today, as it wishes.  Mocha to right.. jazz…  I deserve a day to Self, right?  I do want to make a healthy advance into the papers, though.  AND, I need to stop by the winery for the tasting.  Probably won’t get to the notes, though.  Oh well.. maybe I will.  Again, I’m not overthinking.  Think that’ll be one of the ’35 Laws’, a small writing momentum I began yesterday in Kenwood’s lot.

Back from a quick intermission.  Jazz going, my mocha still supporting me.  All piles to be addressed, on bed, waiting for my excavation.  I’m not only grading today, but having everything in order, a wonderfully chaotic order before 35, tomorrow.  I know, I’m OVERthinking 35.  But I can’t help it really.  That’s how I am, what I am as a writer.  I laugh though, as I know everything will be fine, work itself out one way, another.  Feel like going for a drive…  New 35 law: minimize cell phone usage and contact; this morning at Starbuck, everyone on their phone, looking down, fondling that goddamn screen.  And another law: brew coffee at home.. imagine what you could save, put towards your books, and if you want to publish full-length works, then you need to grove away from that corporate nonsense; visits with a gift card will be permitted, however.

So early, I love this.  I keep looking back at the papers I have to grade, but I’m not ready for their address.  Not yet.  Need my books out, soon.. print something today, would ya?

 

How does clutter always seem to find this writer?  Tell me that…  The summer semester will be an exercise in minimalism, and keeping up with assessment of students.  Printer on…  printing rosters…  It’s as simple as that, turning the printer on, and printing.  Book.. I’m after you, all of you, each one of you.  The coffee keeps me warm, motivated, assured, so I keep typing.  Thoughts in my head jump from grading to winemaking to printing my book to dinner Friday night with Alice, at the Farmhouse.  Now the computer moves slow, intentionally I feel.  It’s taunting me, disrupting my morning mocha MS.

 

9:53, about to attack piles on bed.  I’ll grade a little at a time, that’s my mode.  I can’t grade four hours straight like some instructors, or teachers.  Need to organize everything before tomorrow.  For the sakes of my books.

 

10:12, organized, for the most part.  Will have English 5 completely graded by day’s end.  Have to mail something, then do a bit of budgeting.. should have everything done in a couple hours.  Then what?  I know, over–  More coffee, from downstairs.  And a nice shower for the writer.. printing some pages from the semester’s novel– no, poetry collection first.  That has to be first, poetry then prose.. that’s how I want to be seen, as both, yes, but priority always pulses from poetry, and FOR poetry.  This jazz I’m listening to.. so freeing, so wild, unorganized, so Human.. FREE!  And that’s what I’m meant to be going into 35.  Coffee.. jazz.. imagining my city [Paris] as you might imagine.  I love the mere typing of its name, hearing it said in French.  Coffee machine warming up.  So am I.  I won’t stop and can’t BE stopped, not with this momentum, or inertia, or gravity.  Whatever it is, it’s not scientific.