Over 3,000 words for

the day, but I feel like I’ve composed not a thing.  My 1A lecture was much more energetic and engaging, at least for me, than I thought.  No wine tonight, just slowly sipping a final beer, then 7UP.  Read in Toni Morrison’s Paris Review interview that she wakes before sunrise to write, and out of necessity as she too has children.  So tomorrow is it.  I’m waking at 4.  Going into winery early to help compose a wine club letter, which I’m honestly excited about.  But I need more lectures.  AND I NEED TO PRINT!  Promise to self: whatever I write tomorrow morning, which more than likely will be  lecture on ‘past, present, and future’ for characters, will be printed before leaving for the winery.  No more than one page—  Okay, two.  Single spaced.  If I want to be on the Road lecturing, be that “rock star professor” that you sometimes hear people talking about, then I need to do everything different, and in extremities.

Feeling tired after this day, honestly.  Barbecue at neighbors followed by a crying fit from Emma which quite rattled Alice and I.  But she was just tired, over-tired.  Still is, now asleep on Ms. Alice in the other room while Alice watches one of her shows.

Put Beloved on the desk’s messy top.  Shit, I think, messy again!  How do I let this happen?  How am I still hungry?  Why am I not jazzed that I’ve far passed 3,000?  I’m just tired, I know.  After getting lunch from the French bistro Alice likes, I attempted to nap, but couldn’t fall into dreams or any stillness, rest or sleep.  I just lied there in Jackie’s bed while Alice tried to nap with Emma, also unsuccessful.  And my sleep last night, not rich or with any reviving depth, just tangential and non-contiguous.

Not interested in writing at all right now, which means I have to stop.  Go get my 7UP and read something.  What.  Or maybe go watch the show Alice is watching, just relax…  No answers, just angst, that writer self-infliction, no surprise there, here.