Coffee.  Downstairs.  Waiting to be brewed.  Was just going to use ellipses or commas or hyphens, dashes, semicolons or something between these thoughts and clauses, sentences or whatever but why can’t I use periods?  What’s wrong with the short punctuated thought?  Need to work on keeping my records cleaners, neater, and that’s why I wrote the Amber letter above and not in some separate “file” or laptop “doc”.  Goddamn I hate this thing, this device.  After this, I’m going to write.  Thought about writing in the library after verifying my textbook order but I left to get A’s coffee, and rush home, then to the hospital for an errand, AGAIN.  Hate going there, even driving past it gives me a bit of the willies.  Wishing for my own office, then I wouldn’t have the problem of clutter.  And I didn’t buy new notebooks for Philosophy and this new term, as that would just be more clutter.  Turns out I had two unused, or basically unused notebooks in this desk, the lower right drawer, so I’m quite set for the term, and the rest of the day.  Where should I go?  Should get a haircut but why?  Why do I HAVE to do that?  I should, if anything to get out of the house and maybe write offsite.. new sights, the Newness I need for my writing and for my overall narrative and depiction of me, ME.  Haven’t had shower yet.  Perhaps that first then some coffee then a drive where I’ll take my Comp Book, the one for personal writings and this lifelong narrative, and note after the cut, maybe get another coffee on 12 @ Mission, just sit and write, note who passes, but for what?  Maybe I should have a glass of SB somewhere, like Cellars (a place my wife is fond of).  Or study.. should get a binder for all these articles I printed last semester.  I’ll use the coins I’ve accumulated in the teaching bag to satisfy such overhead.  Sensible, not overthought, done.

And with the coffee next to me I imagine how this first semester will go, possibly my last if the writings evolve as I want them to and these changes to Self come to fruition in the way I envision.  No more writing by device unless it’s a specified session for one project like these very key punches.  Simple.  Not overthought…  And if I stick to that I see only fortune.  I look at my coffee, those swirling and swerving clouds rise from the black flat that I can barely see from this vantage, remember early mornings I’d go fishing with Uncle Stevie, him having coffee and me something, I think either hot chocolate or just chocolate milk.  We wouldn’t always catch something but I’d always appreciate how cold it was.  Cold and quiet.  And the fish I think were quite agitate that we were on their water, talking, making al that noise with Stevie’s motor.  The boat he had was not too large, seating possibly 6-8, max; not too thick a metal material but very durable.  He had that thing forever, or as long as I can recall us on such outings.

I write too much to submit, so I have to Self-pub.  Know I’ve said that before or something like it but it’s the affirmation and Truth of the moment, right here at this desk.  And while this coffee brewed, I threw my old black bag, the one I had while at the box and reached into quick one day at the Roasting Co while writing, looking for a pen and severely cut my left forefinger on a razor I kept in their, for early shave touchups in their, the box’s bathroom (only doing so somedays).  I didn’t need it anymore, as I have the present bag which I’m aspiring to barely use this semester, and it was just more clutter in this already tightfit room.  Oh now this is much better, my desk barely clutters, freeranging, me as a writer with my uncluttered thoughts and dreams of being on water, in a boat, not too far from land but just enough of a distance to where I feel truly at sea…  My character, Mike Massamen, being that he’s a single thirty-something (not going to pin him to number, just a sort-of age-range), one day decides to rent a boat, after taking several lessons and getting licensed or certified, goes for a very cautious sail on the bay, just around Marin, with a guide of course (he’s not confident yet to go totally alone).  But I’ll have to experience this or research it.. maybe both.  Research first.  Research always first.

Haven’t ran since Monday, and now our run/race in SF Sunday may be in jeopardy, with Alice’s Mom falling sick.  I should get out and do a couple miles just to be safe.  Forget the haircut, it’s all about writing and running, at my age.  And I can’t remember the last time I had longish hair.  When?  When I lived in San Ramon?  Shit, but I just had coffee.  Will wait for it to wear off.  Or no, I won’t run.  Why run when I can stay here and write, truly stay in the chair as I advise my students, sometimes all but bullying them to write.  I don’t bully them, I just heavily and heartily encourage–  I’m going mad in this house, with this coffee, so why not drink more?  Just one more cup, I tell myself, or how about fill the tumbler that Alice bought me?  It’d be free!  Then I could come back and watch one of the writing movies or read a little or even add to the day’s word count, add something to the items list (which I now realize I have to chip away at everyday, otherwise when I die so many work will go forlorn).  Thinking now of writing another letter but having it be its own doc, or file, add it to the items list.  But not before I get some coffee, yes, the Beat must persist in his caffeinated sips.