Nearly at two thousand for day. Think I need a nap, much I want to read through Kerouac’s pages– no, I’ll read a little then sleep. Standalone complete, about the East West [no forward slash needed, I learned] Café. Looking forward to trying some new wine tonight, and restauranting again with Ms. Alice, dinner. But I wish I could ask YOU for writing advice, reader– what should my character do the rest of the day? A nap is senseless, a total timesuck. So then what, how do I strut?
Need to type the ’35 Laws’, either tonight or tomorrow, night. One of them, to read more, starting today; my goal, two books a month, outside bloody school. I’ll start with On The Road, then go to… Maybe I should re-read Hem’s ‘Feast’.. yes, good idea Mike. Wonder what my little Artist is doing, down there in Monterey with his grammy. Hopefully acting well, as he’s become a bit audacious and defiant, in late. Part of me stays quite proud of his convictions and writer-stubbornness while the antithetical consciousness continent orders me to discipline. And I am torn, without confusion– but I guess that’s the very nucleus of confusion, being torn, and nothing has done that to me like fatherhood. Which I like. It’s made me more of an Artist, writer, thinker, being, all.
Hungry again. That’s peculiar. Or entirely expected, considering I blew through the 10K this morning (which reminds me I have to check my time..). When I walked away from that table I was placed in a placid food coma. And now again I long for bites.. some charcuterie sounds intriguing.. maybe some SB, or light red, something with full palate but light weight…
I’m giving into the napping tempt. What else can I do– no, frankly, I deserve it. And it’s my off day. So away… Nite-nite, as little Kerouac would say.