Not much sleep last night.  Second cup at 7:38.  Worked on Lit Mag last night and novel not at all.  Feeling much better that yesterday, no more cold evidence or ripple, and am ready for tomorrow, my observation, or as much as I can be.  Doesn’t really matter as I’m not letting myself teach at Mendo next term anyway.  Had thoughts this morning about sending bits of the novel off.. but I don’t have time to wait for the acceptance or rejection or the silence even.  I just need to publish myself, start a real company, or “label” as these winemakers say, and just go for it.. and by ‘it’ I mean everything.  Starting to feel more awake with the inaugural sips of this second cup.. Jackie coughing last night, so Alice nor the writer slept much.  Not sure if I want a mocha this morning or a large cup of the blackest of blackest coffees.  I’ll let the Story tell me.

Still no letter from Dav.  Thinking of writing my next letter to Amber, as she’s better about communication, with her grad student routine, majoring in public health with I think her eyes still on M.D.  Good for her.  I remember when she was a student in my class she always had a fire about her, a determination and refusal; she would have her way– I need react the same to everything.. why am I so safe all the time, so responsible, so scared?  Of what.  Well, always the threat that you’ll lose your job or be let go or unjustly beheaded.  And They love that, that they instill that fear.  I don’t show it obviously but I log it– I’m not that fearful really, but I don’t want to be in that position, the panic and shame and regret that follows a dismissal.  But if such happens I’ll still write, in fact I’ll have more time– so wait…  Oh I hope they send me to those gorgeous gallows.

So what’s more for the writer on a morning like this?  Mocha or coffee?  Never thought of it that way.. I want to say mocha but the coffee revs me more and especially when paired with the jazz, that Hutcherson station I always cue.. Tell me, Story!