Next morning, on couch with Jack. No temp, just sniffly, whiny, uncomfortable and needy. On my first cup with Alice upstairs and I just him to be comfortable. Don’t know what else I can do. Hate this hopeless feeling, but I’m relieved that his little assembly of resistance is doing something; again, getting some sleep, no fever and more composed than he was night before last, or when in Monterey. Looking forward to being in the loft, at the seated table and just having a meditation. I need quiet, some collection time to focus on something singular– And that something singular has to be little Kerouac right now, he keeps saying ‘Daddy, Daddy..’ in the moaning nasal tone. Right now he dominates my world and sitting in this cushion.. he sips his water, says “I wa’ watch dinosaurs…” So I change the disks, anything to keep him content, my little Artist, and the caffeine helps, so I keep typing, focusing on anything singular I can, all’s with gravity and significance and a contributing code; the singular, this moment for example, where Jack is in his recovery and me adding to yesterday’s 3 pages, trying to catch up and keep my project intact.. starting the day, this moment, and wondering how long it’ll take me to grade everything tomorrow, but I can’t let that thought dilute this Now. All Now’s have their portioned play of Newness. Dad would understand as a Philosophy major, and he’d tell me to enjoy this moment, even though Jack is sick, as it’ll never happen again, ever. He forwarded the same strand of counsel right after J was born. So I follow, even if my writing’s interrupted or slowed, like now, J pinning my right arm in his crook keeping me closer to him, so I type with on hand, my left, not my most agile of native utensils. 7:34, heater on, J content after I move my right arm and I can continue– J loses togetherness and I should stop the run on this page. And on the topic of runs Alice scheduled us for two in ’15, making me refine my character even more, and focus on everything from distance to pace to terrain and form. I’m a runner like I’ve never been with this morning’s reflection. And sitting next to Jack, I have to tighten my character’s ways, yes stay jazzesque but with more order and focus, or direction, or at least some semblance of consistency.
Cup two in brew, Jackie comments calmly on the movements of the dinosaurs, “His daddy come back…” And as these dinosaurs hunt each other, I hunt for words today, and French language and words, phrases, anything to make my vocality more blazing and expansive, expressive! Expression is always the goal of language, or at least language from someone like me. I’ll try to remember to bring the thesaurus. But if I forget, I’ll just reshape language as I need to, to make it more jazzy and colorful, different. I’m in a turnrush with this sitting now, “I tired” Jackie declares with a sluggish intonation and I rub his back, he barely moves, starts to moan a bit then refocuses on his dinosaurs and their trek– bite from the waffle I just toaster’d for him, and peace. He demands another waffle, and the first I fixed for him with all his bitten indents is no longer appealing. “I wa’ ‘no’ faffle…” It’s ready now, see how many bites he whales into this one. Then he requests that he have two waffles before him, obliged, my only aim in this sitting is to keep him even and please and composed while he watches the predator dinos chase their slow stubby and horned prey.
Need more sips.. no fear in this idea of a stageplay, a short one, broadway style; brief and funny, effective and resonant.. I want to act, or I always have really in one way or to one extreme or another.. about adjuncts, having to grade, sharing an office, and the whole promise of something better, more assignments and how it’ll look good if you teach this class… “Yeah right,” my thesis for the play. I’ll start writing today, just notes and dialogue, run the lines with Abby the actress at work, see what she thinks, see how she reads the lines and the characters. Have to use my actress friend and her acuity with characters.