Great meeting with 5-ers, which has been nearly every session so far this semester. Not sure how they’d respond, but….. how I’m feeling. Wrote a poem in class with them which I plan on using for MPM. Got second coffee so I’m down to $11 budgeted for day’s rest. Will spend some on my later coffee, and maybe a water, snack, but a couple bucks has to go into that little baggie for my winery. The vines are outrunning me in terms of saving money for a bit less than a half-ton of Merlot. Don’t want them to STOP growing, maybe just wait for the writer. So I need to start pushing Mon Petit Mise, everywhere I go, brining it up in every conversation.
Just yawned, but not letting myself tire. Have to run soon. Leaving campus at 10:30.. home a bit before 11 then launch. Don’t want all this coffee, so I’ll sip slow. Want my energy while running to be natural and intrinsic sourcing, not forced or chemically coaxed as from this med roast. Can just see the way I’m typing, in the way I type, that the coffee’s in my circulation, that my heart has published it and is distributing it to every stand and station in my writing vessel. Goddamn my addiction. But what can I do. I’m a Writer. Adjunct. Father. All 3 of my Me’s need the brewed beans.
Looking at the poem I wrote in class. And I quite like it. But I need to read. Find readings around Sonoma County, around the Bay, around the COUNTRY— huh, just gave me an idea.. been thinking lately I need to write more competitively, for audience, more direction, so why not write with a particular reading in mind?— Shit, already minutes before 10 (9:53). Not enough fucking time in day, daytime, no time for me in any day. Push, push, I tell myself. No quote marks, I know who’s narrating. The most inward of internal me’s that has something to read, read to a crowd, that sea of breathing listeners attentive; be heard and appreciated, studied, followed, in a position to help, inspire, or just make something thinking something. TEACH—