Not what I wanted for wake time. Guess my vessel and circuitry needed the rest. House about to come alive no doubt.. writing father hurries with his entry which will barely make it over 100 words I’m sure.. coffee cued, machine waking as well. Legs sore from yesterday’s 8. Dog behind our house barking… SHUT THE HELL UP! Machine ready to brew, hear Jackie moving upstairs. Once he’s down here, the demands start.. waffles, cartoons, water, milk, something else. Alice taking him to school so I can get to the winery earlier, or write by the dam/lake like I have—
And I here him walking, my china shop bull—
He came downstairs, Alice woke, as did little Emma, and the morning was off. Now the writing father tries to collect himself by the dam, but in a different spot.. in a large parking lot, last remaining shade plot. Bikers on the other side preparing for their ride. Stopped at the Dry Creek General store to write, put bag down by a trash bin, in the sun, with loud music playing, in Spanish, which I love but there was too much oddity in the scene, too much unfamiliar.. here, with my window down, music I choose in row, and the breeze massaging my left ear and head-side, I’m quite well. Thinking of my babies, and how everything has to be perfect for them.. this writing and my crEATive habits. Not to drink too much coffee (which by the way I packed or canistered my own from home, in the mother-in-law tumbler, only having one cup at home before any sips from the tall black tower), not too much wine or artisan/craft beer (last night only having two Lagunitas, no wine), exercise more (yesterday, 8 miles), read more which I wasn’t able to fit in, not even a news article. Speaking of news, the election, politics, have to email sister-in-law. Want more political material. And not to be some expert, but to understand it more. I’ll admit, there are times I’m hazy or more or less lost in the process, such as with delegates, districts, primaries vs. caucuses, all like. There is one blog I’m following, more of a newsletter really, that is a bit assisting, but I need more evidence and testimony, from someone on the hill like Jenn.
9:18. Thinking about getting to work early, but from this clock number set, I could gift myself 30 minutes of writing time, to react to my own reflections with Parenting and Health/Fitness, Readings and Writings, and whatever else. Think this may be my new writing spot— And you know what, I am giving myself 30 minutes of writing time here. Fuck it. One biker does laps around the parking lot, smiling at me with each pass. She’s going to enjoy her day, her ride, this Sonoma sun, undoubtedly. More and more I learn about my Self and aims, desires and aspiration. Finally now just before 37 they become focused, or sharpened, honed or whatever. Next week, Week 16 I think. The semester’s over. One more stack of papers to return, then I cruise through to Week 19 (finals).
Slept well last night. So no wonder that solitary coffee cup at home has rattled my functionality so ardently and acutely. Love this writing spot, and love how it’s not too hot. I know as Summer closer draws, this may not work. Well, this early it might, but I know the dynamic and atmosphere will change. Not sure where I’m going with my thinking, but I’m here, in my car, writing, thinking, meditating, a new writing spot, one I’m comfortable in, with, no one around, no trash can, no blaring music I didn’t select (again, I love Tejano and Banda, but it wasn’t a scenic ingredient I foresaw, or beckoned, wanted or needed), no sun in my left eye, on shoulder, making me agitated and worth shit as a writer.
See a picnic area ahead of me, over on a small ground elevation at my 12; table and bench set under overhand, shaded. But this car, a creative capsule for me now, where I have to be, the story wants it this way, so I stay. Realize this morning, 8 hours. 8 hours I’m at the winery, and 5 times a week. 40+ hours. That’s time away from writing— what if I were seated all 40 of those hours, writing, building upon blog content for books? I adore Dutcher, but it’s a thought, something I’m ping-ponging in my meditation this morning. But what if I wrote all day? Just notes, words, sounds.. and not on my phone! Small words when I can, but don’t I already do that? Living is writing, right? So I need to write/blog at every lunch break, and when I can in the TR write in the little pages.
First sip of coffee, song on that I tally as part of meditation— spoken word, rhyme, music, thought, life, stories, stress, happiness, remedy— Passing cars distract me, break the meditation. Can’t forget to write Jenn, get answers on the politics of America. I don’t want to be one of those Americans that just watches the news. What are my questions? Have to think them out, brainstorm like my students just scribble and collect myself in words before sending a letter on politics to someone whose living IS in politics— Interrupted my own thought, in this creative capsule, “What if I had the day off?” Honestly, I’d more than likely go to campus, lock myself in the adjunct cell, write for all 8 hours, only coming out for lunch or coffee, or air. No, no air, no air needed for my form of writer. The music I’m listening to deepens the meditation, all these thoughts on life and how curt and short it is, fear but compulsion, my life, the only one, has to be perfect, just how it needs to be for Kerouac and Ms. Austen.
This election, so far, and as far as I can tell, has indicate something pronounced about America. That we don’t know what’s going on. We don’t know the candidates that well. That we don’t research. That we only follow. The candidates are brands, sweaters, bumper stickers. I don’t want to be that, precisely why I just texted Jenn for her email. I want to change this, change me, then maybe help change the country, somehow. I find it hilarious that we’re the symbol for democracy and freedom and this is how our election process is conducted. I’m a registered independent and I can’t vote in the primaries when they come. That I don’t understand— I don’t have my opportunity to exercise and enjoy my freedom in voting.
9:44. Have to take off in 4 minutes, to the winery. REMEMBER: Write everything, even if you don’t physically scribble. Take pictures to remind yourself. Stay in capture mode, tell a story, YOUR story. As I urge the students, “If you don’t write, then nothing gets written, no story’s told. YOUR story needs to be told.”