journal pages

1/22–  Couldn’t go back to sleep, and I tried.  Mom and Dad left for my city today, my cherished Paris.  I’ll be back soon.  Saw an interesting film last night, ‘Nightcrawler’ with Jake Gylenhall, and I’m not at all concerned with spelling his name as I don’t have much time till Jack wakes.  Yesterday in the new room absolutely and foremost defeated me.  I drove home exhausted, but no mood.  Once back in the condo, surveying all the evidence of Jack’s birthday party, the one Alice put on for all his friends and the other moms, I started to relax.  But I woke last night and this morning thinking of that film, and ambition, having a near sick ambition to get what you want, what you need professionally.  The fridge stopped, and the Artist and his mama are still very much passed out upstairs.  Both are also drained from yesterday and now I hear him asking where I am.  Going up to get my little friend, and now that he’s awake I’m cleared to make coffee.  And I’ll need coffee today, lots, a wine club pickup party scheduled, me needing to be there a little after 9.  Oh, if I could just have near twenty minutes to write as I do in the adjunct office, just to collect myself and watch some people walk by, write or type on that hard black iron patio table, feel it wobble in sync with my seat, I’ll be ready for the day, wine club member demands and any entitlement although I don’t think this label breeds that, frankly.  There’s too much joy and pride from not just the owners and hosts, and too much from the neighboring restaurants, other tasting rooms even, and hotels for that to happen.  It’s Human, Williamson, and that’s what keeps me interested, and why I went there in the first place.

I have odd momentum and energy already, and no coffee for the writer yet, ‘wow’ I think to myself, ‘today will be one to write about’, or somehow document.. which, yes, will be with these observational sentences, the people coming to the bar to taste and the fact that it’s complementary blows them away and humbles them, relieves them as they don’t have to dip into any cash envelope they set aside and budgeted for their vacation.  Yesterday on lunch, I just sat in the office, ate the sandwich Chef made, and I couldn’t tell you what was on it as I was too settled in my seat and rejoicing I could rest to analyze what lay between the baguette pieces.  6:35AM, no more voice heard from my little boy, my little Beat, the little Kerouac that balances me and has me with this drive this morning.  It’s not the Gyllenhaal movie (and yes I just looked it up, and yes I hear J walking around up there–)

Now he’s downstairs with me playing with one of his new trucks, me with coffee only one sip in but feel its swarming through all mico-particles and platelets.  Hoping we get out early today as it’s an early show, room closed to passers, but who knows.  Jackie tells me he’s fixing his truck, something’s “too tight, okay Daddy?” I nod and congratulate him on his work, his devotion to a singular project which I again applaud.  Have to return to Grim papers today, at some point.  Want it done within a couple weeks, at least a draft.  And then to study for the GRE, seriously this time, not only to get a refund months before.  What will get me into the PhD program and path will be the writing, my analysis of text.  Tomorrow I’ll be home with J, for the day’s whole, so I’ll have an opportunity to add more to the MS.  Not so sure about today.  Maybe a hundred-fifty words, one quote from Kerouac, or Plath.. more and more I think Plath may be the anchoring author of my first paper, I don’t know– and that’s how I look at this project, a first paper.  I have to get back to school, and so many tell me that ‘it’s staggering’ or ‘it’s grueling’, it’s the hardest thing they’ve ever done.  That’s just the challenge and growth spurt I’m in need of with my teaching, reading, studying and writing.  So it’s a matter of prepping now, months ahead of the Jan ’16 submission.

7:07, Alice needs to be up soon so I can ready, shower, what have.  I’ll give her a bit, till 7:20-something.. putting down laptop, starting leave-prep.  Huge sip of the coffee and whatever remaining pain or tired from yesterday leaves me, or is quieted by the dark roast.  Going upstairs…  Dad schedule and rhythm this morning, part-time job to get me closer to where I truly and wildly want to stand, in a Stanford classroom, or in a hotel room, rewriting and rehearsing the talk I’d give the next day at a Lit conference, or on writing, or on a recent book release.. dreams starting to actualize and take shape and be able to be touched, steered.  How loving…

Today, 2/23, a day of writing and time with little Kerouac.  Tired from weekend but energized.  Loved the bakery and Flying Goat writing spots, especially the bakery as it’s inside and warm and so full of those morning weekend sounds and voices.  Running tonight but on tread, then tomorrow I’ll again give the lecture of my life.  No nap today, just writing and logging ideas.. tomorrow I hope to be incredibly focused and visual with my lecture, pointing out certain specifics in both books..

Have to write in the Grim paper as well.  And letters, more letters.. write Ashley and Dav again, and Mom and Dad while they’re in Paris, as that will be my writing focus today, that letter to Mom and Dad.  I envy them on more levels than I here have time to catalogue and capture.  But I stay put in my morning mentality with the coffee and my son and the run later.. if I run today, I may not tomorrow, or maybe I will, certainly not 13.1 like last Wed.  Or maybe I’ll try to hit 15.1, see how I feel.  Not going for time, just distance.  And maybe a little attention to Time, I won’t lie, that’s just the kind of runner I am.  Second cup brewing, and now the sun shows more of its added visuality outside; its axioms, and I become axial in my day’s aims…  Thinking of everything from this journal to my letters to the book I just finished (the 100 days project, 3 pages per..), and Quarry Swing the novel.. should edit three days of the 100 days project, which I’m for the moment titling ‘Forced Avarice’, and do so everyday so I can publish it, an ‘ebook’.. soon, get my works out there, get closer to the Road and to Stanford, and to my office, wherever that might be.. thinking Healdsburg, Square, close to my bakery.