Tired and not in

much mood to write.  Not type, or scribble, just dive to this last Racer, and be done.  My “toy truck” project, the novel, Mr. Massamen.. why do I have to have it such?  A toy.. a dream.. “yeah I’ll work on it when I can…” Fuck that.  So here I am, now, furious with my procrastination, and that I’m not in my office yet, that I haven’t traveled like this other dad I just met, having two jobs if I accurately recall and he goes to Chicago frequently, and Boston, even seeing a game at Fenway, and Wrigley, coordinating his trips to see games at the parks he’s always wanted to experience– and I’m still stationary.  But no self-pity, only ardency in me– the novel to be done, diving back into those 100 days, damnit, the project I was so proud to finish and only let rot in this goddamn laptop.

Should be in bed soon, to wake, early, go right to the novel then to meeting at 11 (mmc-related), then to Napa…  then to class.  But when do I have time to grade?  Life closes in on my like a buzzard pack.  And I just lay there being picked at, staring at the sky while the last layer’s ripped away.  Wish I lived in Kerouac’s day, or Hem’s, when there wasn’t a cell, no laptop, not much phone reliance.  Just me, the paper and pen, the transference of idea to page, true page, not some screen.  But here I am using one.  This bloody laptop makes me not want to write, not want to be me– I just stew, sit, in the perfunctory.  No more of this journal.  Only the novels.  That’s it.  The novels will be the journals– is that possible?  Is this my last journal entry?  Am I to be Mr. Massamen?  Like being a “method actor”.  I guess.  Have no idea what that bloody means.

Already smell the morning coffee, however many cups.  Doesn’t matter I just need to write in the novel, and only the novel, the Massamen piece; his story and message– he’s not like me then I see so much.  What a writeable paradox!  If you could see this particular ‘doc’ on the laptop, toward the screen’s bottom it tells “Page 378”.  378 pages.  And for what.  This blog?  There’s a problem here, only now I see it and realize certain directions and directives, like with mmc– I could have done that years ago but only now I follow-through and somewhat succeed.  huh, “succeed”, I don’t know about that exactly, I know I’m trying but that’s about it, a little girl on the way and I have to have my whole life in a special order before December.  It’s a deadline.  We writers are used to that, no?  One of little Kerouac’s trucks to my right, and close.  I’m tempted to push the buttons, hear the sirens.  But he’d wake, I’m sure.  So no.  Illustrative signs pointing me to that sound, my own siren.  No tech, just activity, and thought, a stretched table and another pour.

Morning of the 13th, and I’m in motion, needing and wanting to harder push.  Have to follow up on a couple leads, at some point between my 11AM and the trip to Napa.. and teaching, in Fall, what to do.. part of what makes me so marketable, I think, is that I’m an active adjunct prof’.. but, do I want two sections come Fall?  Could I even do it, if I have a full client load?  I can’t let go of teaching, I don’t think, as it gives me so many ideas for the advertising and copywriting.. so, then the TR would have to be cut, right?  I don’t know.  Don’t want to let that go, fully anyway, at the moment.  The Story will write it all for me.  Time for cup 2– shave shower dress and launch.  Not much time.  Not much at all.

Just know I’m aiming for whatever’s beyond the stars.