Was thinking driving back from campus that I’m sick of the blog, and that the pages I wrote, handwrote, this morning and those from Sunday morning at Flying Goat and the Bakery, will be printed. Just made coffee for myself and it’s to my left, but should I sip it? Should I take a quick nap? No, told myself I wouldn’t, but if I take one sip there’s no going back.. ugh, what to do, what to do. Had a strong meeting this morning, but I had myself wrapped in doubt, or questioning myself and I can’t do that, I have to exude Hemingway confidence at my age and at this point in my career. I look at the coffee, bring it to nose, smell….. And I don’t sip! I put it back down! Can’t remember the last time, or ever doing that! Heard a song on KCSM this morning, just now driving back as I said, by Rhiannon titled “City Life”, where she voices everything on her mind and all her worries, not so much singing as reciting, speaking her words, to the jazz, the frantic arrangement in the back ground. My bagel’s ready, have to rise to get it, now I’m thinking like Rhiannon, enumerating everything I have to do and noticing the time shrink and I feel pressure and stress, and I have to go to the Soc Sec office after 1B and somehow fit in a run.. just thinking of it all, of Life, exhausts me. Bit the bagel….. Back on couch. Just the thought of drinking the coffee and feeling that electricity exhausts me. Jackie woke at 2-something then I came downstairs, then woke at 3 something got up to check clock and realized I could get more sleep. So there’s two interruptions, must be why I’m so tired. Going to spill out this entire cup, never done that. Going to get in a power nap, go to Petaluma Campus and rile them as I did the 1A section. No jazz now, as I enjoy the quiet. I need rest, I need to slow, I need Peace this morning. Not too much motion. So, I change pattern. Meditation, thought, stories.. want to write another like the one I submitted to Mom last week. And print it! Reached for coffee but stopped myself, going to finish bagel then lie down.. bit bagel and realize, “Yes, I need a little nap.” This room, again occupied by my son’s toys, his legion of play. I love it, but I don’t want to focus on it too much as that will wake me. I need rest, I’m an adjunct, always juggling, jobs and papers and sections and traffic. Wonder what he’s doing now, little Jack, at school. Wonder what he’s learning, what he’s saying to his friends. Wonder if he’s thinking of me, and thinks about our great day of leisure yesterday. what is thinking? I can’t help but think. Curses! Now I’m awake. Pillows, still here, right, I need them more than this entry.
9:35, much later in day, and I sip my Merlot, the one I made in ’12. Structurally, I’m not sure what I think, but I did make it and I’m drinking it, after a day like today, where nothing happened, nothing gripped me, nothing shook me to significant degree. AND, our car was broken into, window smashed and Alice’s purse taken, so I’m sure that’s taking my mood for a certain spin. Wasn’t able to move photos from phone to external hard-drive, which frustrates me but I put myself in that position, to be frustrated, by technology, always it seems. But I want to be known as a WRITER, even if it’s a writer who blogs, delivers his words by way of blog. Yes I know (I say to Self), Kerouac never used a blog and neither did Plath, Hemingway, so what am I doing. Well, I’m going to write till the world’s on fire and I don’t care which world, at all; the wine world, the academic world (making it pay for how adjuncts are treated and dismissed), the Literary world and how so much favoritism is flown toward the mainstream checkout counter novels, all that vampire and courtroom and romance smut. Again, I’m in a mood, very much in a mood. But then I find an old picture of Jack, smile, and my night recovers. Need tomorrow to be something different, something unexpected– I’ve been wishing for that one awesome day, the one that will change everything, my whole life and writing reality. And I want it to be tomorrow, and it will be. I’ll write about being a father, and a writer, and an adjunct that HAS to be in the wine world as the FT position can only be dreamt. This picture of J, so long past, and I age, watch him age but he gets more interesting and charming and cute, where I just age, get grumpy, and slow. Goddamn Time, and all you do. Took a few of the Valentine’s candies from the box Alice got me, the little mint-themed and flavored hearts. I poured them out, all face-down except for one that read “Chill”. Telling me to relax, not take it all so seriously? Not pressure Self? Tomorrow I’ll wake and dive into the coffee headfirst and stay under its waves, become part of them, ingest and inhale them, be more motivated than I’ve ever been, and it’ll be Heaven, a certain Personhood that only some find, most only read or study or wish.
Another picture I find, one of frosted bark at the winery. Still can’t believe it’s over– I mean, I can, it’s just.. don’t know. This picture punctuates ‘season’ to me, how they change, how Time moves and we all follow observe, just take our pictures. Part of the picture shaded, where I am, then the rest highlighted, given life by Sun and shown to world, observed, I stand there and watch before I have to clock in, put my right forefinger on that fucking scanner. But that estate, more than grandiloquent in its visual, its image and story. I’ll go back, one day, when I’m ready, when the story tells me to.