come morrow. Wanted one last glass of this ’12 Pride Cabernet. Frankly, I’m hoping I don’t sleep a wink tonight, go in tomorrow morning after writing all night and reading and planning our rough draft session— but I have to be honest, I’m getting bored with RD meetings, so I need conduct it differently when 7:30 around comes.. like what? Readings, 2.. then a quick 15 minute meeting with partners. Meaning, the meet with each other with specific questions rather than doing the blind reads I’ve had them do for the past however many years. Again, what do I want from my professor (question to Self—); and then, from such construct, what do I want to read from Mike Madigan?
Jackie asleep, Emma with Alice in the living room. Another bit of peace in the Studio— But then I remember I have to plan a bit for tomorrow, more than I expected for the discussion on argumentation. Thinking I may only teach one class in Fall, but I haven’t decided. If I truly have the play proceed as I’ve written, I will be out by then; on the Road, lecturing everywhere and anywhere on writing and composition, poetry and critical reading; reading and performing my works. And maybe doing a little with wine, but creative and the way I want to be involved with what I sip and how I write about it. Like this ’12.. this deserves so much more than some rudimentary baboon prose, if you could so tag it, like what James Laube “writes”. Some people actually take time to write, others have little micro-shits published and receive notice. Can’t say I understand. But I’m here, writing everything without fear and I continue with wine and life and parenting with my ameliorations of moments— the ego monsters object, but I keep with my stares at the beach, into the ocean and know it’s talking to me, telling me to keep doing what I do, be it in the classroom or on this blog, with wine or whatever. Tomorrow a new day, and I know that sounds cliché, but it’s what I wrote, it’s what I just felt sipping the final gouttelette (droplet) of my ’12. Not paired with anything, not overthought, just sipped. And now, time for sleep, but I hope I don’t. I want to walk into the room tomorrow morning with altered sense, sensibilities, make Ms. Austen quite appeased with my accentuations.
Honestly, not a solitary goddamn wink I’m hoping for. I’m sure I’ll regret wishing for such, but I need Newness, I need the spontaneity and travel and oddity that I wrote about in my Master’s Thesis; Carroll’s Wonderland and how its illusory ingredients made it beautiful. If I were in my hotel Room, I’d have another glass, write all night, present tomorrow on no sleep at all, take no questions till after my presentation was wrapped. What do I want to read from Mike Madigan? REAL fearlessness. You say you’re without a fear? Then show me, writer/poet/whatever you think you are. I DARE YOU.