Day starting, will note as day goes alone. Ordered iced coffee from sbux on way here. Huge mistake for writer, melting ice depriving coffee of its argument and stance. So no more of that ever ever again…
Outside, perfect temp. Should go get a picture quick, before heat lands.
Still feel run from yesterday, in fact more this morning than I did last night. Just a few things to do for winery in terms of writing, so this run exhaustion shouldn’t interfere with too much. Think the coffee’s ready.. real coffee, thank god.
Editing… collateral for club shipments, getting distracted by the view, that block just outside the window, think it’s Sauvignon Blanc. Need a vineyard walk.. need pictures… need that morning air before it gets too hot.
Thought, for “value”’s sake, some thoughts, maybe even advice for writers with a day job at a desk: HOW TO SURVIVE—
1 – Obviously, write… But don’t be seen writing, make sure you’re covert, make only notes, singular words or short, short sentences.
2 – Try to be ahead of what you’re assigned, so you have time to yourself in between tasks, or chores, or whatever they call it.
3 – Get up and go for a walk, or two. Not too many as to bring attention to yourself, but walk around, outside the office. Plan these walks. They will save you.
Just got back from a walk, around growing vines and clusters, cracked leaves and dried weeds under soles. Now back at desk, typing this post. Need another sip of coffee… I sip, and wonder what the feel of my eventual office will be. I imagine something like this, but smaller, and with more music… More Art… More different coffee types.
Some criticism: little art, no music at present and when there is music it’s only from one person’s computer. Diversity is divine, I find. So such will be the case in my office, the bottledaux office.
Already touched everything on my to-do list for day. So now what. Make a list, of everything to have in office. Why not here? A wish-list… I’m always wish-list-ing, anyway…
1 – Coffee, at least five different characters
2 – Several types of music, on location, like a jukebox, and turns taken
3 – Wine
4 – couch
5 – brainstorming room
6 – notebook garden (bunch of notebooks on floor and people can come in and pick up which ever one they want and scribble either an authored thought or some anonymous expression
7 – Large pieces of paper, like those you’d see on a brainstorming easel, but several tapes together, connected, for a growing and ever-added-to wish list
8 – Healthy snacks.. veggies, veggies, veggies!
9 – a quiet space, where there’s nothing, just space for you and your thoughts, and if I can have my truest of druthers, this would have a door that could be closed, for the most valuable of collections and reflections— different than brainstorming room, as this could only have one person at a time within its borders
10 – a beanbag, to sit (maybe this could go in the room aforementioned, or brainstorming room, or my office, or all around the general office)…
11 – oh, and beer
Home, 10:18, after a couple humble pours of Cabernet, Lancaster, one of my 12’s, I have to meditate, pour self final cap, and look to day next. Travel, travel… It keeps haunting and taunting me, get out on that fucking road and explore. Tonight with students, reading Malcolm X’s “Prison Studies”, I thought of reading, and what it’s done for me, what I want readers of my work to do after reading. Curtly: Go get whatever it is you want. And I need to lead by example. July 18th, July EIGHTEENTH! IT gets closer and close, and the IT is still entirely unknown. OF course, I know what I’d like to be, I know what I’ve dreamt it to be, but the actual tangibility is still universally a mystery.
See myself sitting on the couch in my office, sipping a glass of Dutcher Chardonnay, one of them, after everyone’s left. Not letting myself write as much as I’m pushed to. But just sip, listen to this new Thievery album, then Hutcherson, then old Morcheeba tracks, some Sonny… And I pour myself another glass, another… pick up a notebook finally, not one of the Comps from the designated room (from which those notebooks can never leave), but from my private stash of Comps.. with old lecture notes in it, old plans and quotes, words of the day… I think of more possibilities and hypotheticals with my office and what I’d do in there, how some times I’d write like I was going to die the next minute and then the next just enjoy my wine.. huh, imagine that, just enjoying wine.
Dryer going upstairs. How Jackie and Ms. Austen sleep through such is incredible to me. This Summer class, testing and inspiring me on a multitudinously galactic throw. What else do I say, I’m not a “spring chicken”? Whatever that means. Don’t know what to say, other than I’m getting old and there needs to be more order, more ‘focus’ as Mom said. No class tomorrow, and I have to say I’m animated by such. Tomorrow morning I’ll wake and go get coffee quick and come back to write. Why is there no coffee in this fucking house? That’s enough to wake me up, or keep me up, keep me from sleep unlike my little beats upstairs whom I just check on… Young Emma, so contained and immune to reality. How does she do that? How does Jack remain the jester he is, so acute and charismatically spread with his humor? These two are not even a diminutive bite into life and have taught me more ABOUT life than any of my undergrad or grad professors. Why can’t I teach as well as them? And they don’t even try!
Breathe, listen, more wine…