Late Punch-in

10/28/14–  5:37AM, couldn’t sleep, kept thinking about freelancing as a writer, or journalist, or diarist.  Woke about 25 mins ago and all I’ve been thinking about is how my interest in teaching, if you could call it that now, has suffered.  So what else to do, write, standalone to standalone.  And I start with the magazine, MY magazine, whoso, and the other pieces I send out.

Fridge doing its usual hum in the dark and I wait for Alice to wake up, around 6 or 6:15.  Not sure if I’m staying home today, even though I’ve pretty much assured that in yesterday’s entries.  Running today after Alice, it’ll be in the dark which I don’t particularly care for but I have no choice this time of year.  Should be healthy for me to get outside any zone of comfort and go out there and “get the story”, right?  As a journalist would do.  Already gathering material for the next issue, starting with that longer short “No Notice” and the Palooza piece.  That’s about six occupied pages of material right there.  Of course, last night I had one of those moments where I second-guessed the whole idea of the magazine.  No, not now, not at this point, I’m sick of me doing that.  Need a brief bio for this new lit mag I’m targeting as well as others that demand or expect the same from their writers– and just that, “their writers”, like we’re their property– but I can’t think like that, not now.

I love these early sessions.  And my battery eroded so I have to scoot to the other end of the couch, left, where the charger is, my wife’s.  Hear someone upstairs, turning and stirring.  Sounds like Jack but I can’t tell.  Can they hear the keys as I touch them?  Trying to be as quiet as I can.