Tomorrow, Santa Barbara. And I may have an opportunity at Sonoma State. Not sure yet. Will send my materials by way of email, tomorrow, before I leave, while Alice is on her run. My first Kerouac book came in the mail today, a collection of his letters. Didn’t know I bought a used book, once in a library, somewhere, can’t remember where. I will write the whole time in SB, if not tangibly then mentally. Bringing my Lagunitas Ale into living room with me; not breaking law of no drinking, anything, on the new couch. Promised Ms. Alice and I will obey… The ocean, the sand, that view from our Room down there, just waiting for me. What can I do but be patient. I hate that. HATE it. The power went out on campus today, interrupting a poetry writing activity, right after we began. I urged the students to write through it, and they did, after two, both vets, walked around the building, outside, to make sure all was okay– their impulse, prompted by a rumble, heard by everyone in class. But we wrote on, past it. It was interesting.
I try to relax, but I stress thinking about the fact I only have, basically– no, less than– 48 hours in SB. I shouldn’t do that. Why am I doing that? Just enjoy. Have a run, get one page into the book, and enjoy. And just because you’re not physically writing doesn’t mean you’re NOT writing. You are. Living IS writing, I tell myself. And my writer friends would agree. Should sent one of them a note tonight. I will. But I doubt she’ll return. She’s free, flying, a flight attendant, attending flights and her flights attend to her, her pages, her vignettes as she recently told me she’s scribbling.