Just woke. Short bathroom break and now writing. Again, I feel safer writing here than in the magazine, or starting some new book– not yet, not time.. yet. Going in late for club event, home a little late then half marathon tomorrow. Landed fall classes for SRJC: English 1A in morning, early (7AM), than a 1B in Petaluma, I think 12-1:30. Then done. No Mendo. I mean, I could take classes there, but they haven’t offered me anything official yet, or what I deem official– only ones tentative with the observation contingency, which we haven’t debriefed yet. They’re moving too slow in Ukiah, and even if they were more motivated, motioned, I wouldn’t take them. I want more time to write and more time with little Kerouac, who was again coughing last night, my poor little Artist. Tired from yesterday in the reserf room, and tonight’s event better not even be the least bit demanding, not stressing or straining me even a little.
Tempted to get a little more sleep, but I needed to write.. something. Jackie’s up, going up to get him…
7:16AM. First sip of coffee, poems I wrote yesterday, may blend them together, but not in the same order they were scribbled or typed on phone. I’m not in any way about “order” these days.. just writing and releasing, the moment and the Newness, the knowledge that Emerson said I need to find, for myself, and the Equilibrium that Dad said one day I’d find. And I think I have, or at least I can see it and I think about that watching little Jack play with his toys, with two batteries in and out of the airplane piggybank, he removed the front portion with the propeller, puts the batteries (AA) in, jiggles them then removes. He has a system, a pattern, methodology to everything he does and I just sit here with candied envy.. and I’m not an agelast, I do giggle a bit but I also analyze, see how I can have some of what he exercises.
I’m basorexic with words this morning, language, spinning it however I want like a turtle in the pacific riding some unexpected or known current for amusement or transportation or both. I’m just holding words then returning them to the world in a more libation-like layer. Tomorrow’s run, visible. I just have to start slow. I can still feel the 7.2 run from Thursday.
$4200 in account, putting $150 on couch, then it’s paid. That leaves $4050. Put $200 on cc, 3850. And there I’ll stop for now. Want to put around $500 toward the house fund and maybe $250 or $275, maybe $280 to my publishing stash at Schwab. And no new camera! I’ve been toying with the idea of getting a new device for pictures. Eventually, maybe, just not yet. I’d rather write and at this point anything that intercedes with the pages is punishable obstruction as I see it.– $280 to company. and I stop.
Jackie plays with a couple pennies, nickels and dimes I gave him. “Dada, that’s my money, I pu’ i’ here!” he says, turning back around to focus on his arranging. Feel like xenobombulating today, make up some excuse. They have plenty of people, right? In the speed-walking wine club member frenzy and dogma of entitlement and somehow warranted overconsumption.. I don’t want to hear their requests and hear how they’ve been club members for years, or a little over a year, or they just signed up and are already acting like they own the bloody winery.. I just don’t want to hear it.
More coffee. I hate it when it approaches the Siberian stage of staleness and it loses its courage. Excuse me… Second cup cued. Blankets on the floor just in front of a puddle of toys. Very much looking forward to only teaching two classes next term. And, I have to be honest, the drive is something I won’t at all miss. At first it was exhilarating being a freeway flying teacher again, but I’m calling it, it’s over, no more, more centralization and that pertains to vocation avocation and geography. Flying for adjunct assignments is a young person’s pursuit, and I’m an aging writing stuck and even further harnessed to my ways, practices. “Less is more,” a full-timer at Napa Valley College once said to me, addressing quality vs quantity with courseload. Now I get it, now I see…
And the morning is much in motion with Alice up and out for a walk. No running with her recently paining knee. And laundry upstairs, groaning and circling and throwing water and soap all over its insides. And Jack, jumping from snack to snack, seemingly never full and never bored and never, never exhausted with his surrounding. Never with mulligrubs. How does he do that? He’s luminous always, even when he wakes in the middle of the night like last night, he had a question: “Where mama go?”
He rises from his recent snack and goes to the table where his cars and trucks and trains and one plane situate. The winery on thoughts, the vent, but I won’t let it stay long. I’m like a photographer walking around looking for the perfect shot, like that guy yesterday that I saw roaming around the Syrah hill with his camera and stand, standing with folded arms deciding when to push his button.
Hoping to get a haircut today, not that you needed to know that but I’m looking for anything to note at this point, anything.. I’m running out of fuel, ideas, thinking of the past; Arundel, my grammar school and Serra, the high school– seems like two lives ago. And how? My goal for tomorrow, on running’s note, is to feel better than I did on the last ‘half’ at mile 10. Mile 10 is where everything started to wear, pain, pulsate about me. But not tomorrow. [8:18AM]