this morning, freely, no edits

First thing I want to do when up is write.. and I mean the first thing.  I need be more champion at what I profess to love.  Being a blogger and burgeoning business owner, you focus on so many other priority octopi, it seems.  From social media to other promotive methods, the blog’s layout to just telling people that you’re a blogger, or in my case more a writer… you get lost.  today I refuse to be anymore lost or pulled.  And you’re to talk about branding, I’m a writer before anything else.  Then reader, then teacher.  I know I’ve written this before hundreds of times, I just need an affirming moment, I guess.

Usual routine this Sunday morning, with Jack over there watching a cartoon (just a little, not too much other parents!) before he and I play with his cars, where I’ll definitely participate.  Me here with my coffee at the kitchen island counter, wondering how the day will go— shit, where’s that $40 tip the nice chap, John, gave me.  In my wallet?  Don’t even want to rise to check, too into this writing.  Too into thoughts of the Fall semester, thoughts of Paris and everywhere.  No run this morning, only words, only words for me and my thinking of teaching somewhere other than SRJC— on the Road, out there anywhere, on Kerouac and all my other favorite authors— suddenly I have a stinging need to read.  I’ll bring a book with me to work.  What.  WHAT?  I don’t want to just automatically pull Kerouac, so what then, WHAT.  Hemingway’s the first that to mind comes.  Where’s my ‘Feast’ copy?  Garage?  Office?  Tucked in the desk?  As composed as I’d probably look right now to an observer here with my laptop, phone and coffee (only have phone in case wife texts from upstairs, for whatever reason, to help with Emmie or to come help with something else and not wanting to wake my little plum), I feel scattered, jittery, nervous—  WHY.  This is not a negative sentences set, just truth.  Impatient writer with two kids realizing he too much was pulled away from the writing for the sake of other wheels necessary for the writing.  Paradox, I know.  But that’s how it goes when you’re one of those writers who doesn’t just talk about the writing and that he writes but LIVES it.  Okay.. now I need to get the book, find my $40 as that’s what I’ll use for this morning’s sbux visit (don’t like writing out their name, probably a result of shame from my coffee addiction, and how opposed to corp hoards I am.. oh well).

Found the Hemingway ms, and the Emerson book, and a notebook I’d been looking for for some time now.  Need my own office, not a bloody “man cave”.  A place where I can situate and depend on all my books being.  Could start with the garage, and I’ve written that before I know, but now I should seriously start.

Stayed up far too late last night, and I’m paying for it now.  Another error and something completely unwriterly.  Know that’s not a word I’m just freely typing, giving myself the gift of freedom in what I feel this morning, making a serious dent in my 3 pages for day.. yes, my goal, used to be an official project this month, which I think started last month, but some-fucking-how I was pulled from it.  Something I’ve noticed about Self.  But that stops.  More I read these other writers and bloggers and watch what other business owners are doing, I realize change in one’s Personhood is tyrannosaurically plausible.  Another sip of the coffee…  And I think of a project for day: write notes all the way till lunch then at lunch go to cottage where my work week desk is and write from those notes.  Writer with two babies, needing work and more work to support all obligations and maybe someday get ahead, finally, take family to vacation spot, somewhere, get Self an office offsite, travel and write from travel—

No more distractions.  Only words, writing, completion of manuscripts, all marketing an other obligatories come after, much after.  The coffee tells me to not stop, just keep writing—  “Don’t think, just write.” Like I tell my students.  Jack calls me over for a bit to see something in the cartoon, the cars zooming by in a place that looks like somewhere in Southern Italy.  Not that I’ve been, just what I think it looks like.  But that WILL change.  I will be traveling before year’s out.  For the stories, and sights of building’s I’ve never seen, having coffee in some café that’s been there for over a hundred years.  In America or elsewhere.  Life is much too short to just settle for something, anything.  That much I do know.