9/17/14

A productive day.  Finished the short short, about the man fishing, and the letter to Dav.  Going to mail it to him, no email.  And the novel, more than contributed to today, so I get to write freely in my journal here in the SRJC library.  Not in my usual room, as that’s taken by a student from the Spring ’14 term, one who didn’t perform well, frankly.  We waved with eyes contacted and that was that.  A student in the morning section, Mendo, said she read some of the bottledaux blog, that she found the reading.. I don’t know.. readable.  Don’t want to say she liked it, as I can’t say with all honesty she did, but she did read, and that I appreciate, glowingly.. made my day to be honest.  The unexpectedness of it all.

One more class to go, then home.  The caffeine, wearing, dissipating.  I sip one of those sparkling berry juices Alice bought me.  Helps with hydration but not with motivation or motion.  So I feel lubricious, precarious, fickle.. and whatever other like-word you want to attach.  Have to print the letter to Dav and the draft of the fisherman short.  Yes, I’ll be sending that to him to see what he thinks.  I should probably publish it in ‘whoso’ as well as send it to a flash publication, or have Mom read it, as she is a lovely reader; honest, kind, supportive, THERE.

Students talking, left, twenty yards.  I love it.  It doesn’t annoy me at all really.  The library is like a church for me, a place of admiration, searching and sanity; safety, sanctuary.  Feel like ditching class, isn’t that funny.  And I would if I didn’t like the 6PM section so intensely.  Wonder what my batting average is for the day.  Haven’t logged my stats, yet.  The other day I was at .700-something.  One of my strongest performance in recent chapters.  And I know I can’t have days like that everyday.  And I don’t want to.  That’s not balance, that’s the leveling death that strips the skip of excitement and fervor.

Oh Mendo…  What do I do with you?  So far away but so beautiful.  A lover, stranger, marauder, magnet for my manuscripts.  But it does take time, interfere technically.  This morning for example: I realized that if there was no Mendo I could have played with little Kerouac, brought him to Merryhill at a decent time then come home to write for at least 4 [FOUR!!!] hours if I wished, prepped AND gone to class.  No, though.  There’s the drive, the coffee I have to get prior, the prep when there, lecturing, walking, the office hour no one attends (except for today I had my first visitor, one from the 11AM group), and the walk back to my car, which always takes a couple takes to relocate.

A critical article tonight, I mean FOR tonight, the 6PM-ers.  On the short story, its form and philosophy.. I’ll locate one right after printing the pieces I just emailed myself.  Will drop them in the mail before going home, in the mailbox by the Chinese restaurant.  Haven’t eaten there in a while.. hmm…  Sound good now.  Dinner?  The hunger on these teaching days is nearly more than I can take at my age, especially now with how much I run.  Think I’ve lost a bit, pound wise.  Tomorrow I’m set for 6.2, a light 10K.  Friday I might do Lawndale, take Sat off then do five on Sunday.  Plan?  I’ll see.