Finally, I write free, freely,

for a nightly freedom nightcap.  Tired but I have no interest in sleeping, only writing, thinking about the lunch writing at Cast Winery, with that view, that glass bubbling to my right.  Tomorrow I have class, but I want the day to be different— yeah I know, I always proclaim that but what if I could really do it and in a way that shifts my inventory movement.  Me selling my services and being booked to speak wherever, being flown to what, where, my dreams compound and circulate about my imagination and I’ll concede the exhaustion to me gets, reaches and compromises functionality.  Fact is I’m not free, not how I’d like to be.  So what is MY definition?  Autonomy— creative, and timed, obligatory and circumstantial.  But this will all change, I promise.  But fuck— I can feel myself tiring of writing and tiring of my writing, how I write and I get sick and radically infirm with my practice.  So how do I change?  With the HST method of not caring, embracing insanity— the problem with me is that I’m exceedingly sane, too mature and patterned.  Fuck.  So stop, right?  I don’t know what I’m saying after a day like today.  Least I had a chance to gather some story during lunch and after work at the General Store Bar.  And, huh… house quiet.  Nightcap at left, and I can think, about what I want— told myself this morning driving to work, before knowing what a lilliputian installation was at bow, that “today would set the tone, story-wise, for week’s rest.  That’s my business plan for today.” Well, okay.  Challenge, invitation, odd catalyzation… yes.  I’m ready for tomorrow’s classes, for the other winery days, for tomorrow morning whether I run or not.  Thinking I should but not for 11 miles like I did last Monday.  All that time… need to better situate and lament priority bracket.  So, after taking little beats to school, come home and run for 60 minutes, no more.  Then home to shower and ready.  Then, campus.  Should start writing lectures tomorrow.  Or even tonight.  Starting with.. well…

= starting your reading.  Do you go in with an “open mind”, or with some sort of expectation?

= What distracts you?  What are your remedies, means of combatting those pulls and pushes away from your priorities?

= Where is the joy in what your reading?  Yes, I mean the joy you find, but as well the intended joy from the author?

I’ll make more notes in the morning, but for now, or the rest of this eve, I’ll just lightly research, read and watch the news.  Something.  Today’s taught me a lot, frankly.  About what I want and don’t want, and how I want to be and antithetical.  So I pause, only perpetuating vibes pos’…  I take all embrace of actions mine, so then, more catapult to fruitful time.  Oh… just wait to see what this way comes.  Nothing academic or polished about this entry, or “post” as these blogger bots say.. just the me candor in this second downstairs with the AC on I think too high and the rest of this Lagunitas for the writer to sip.  Or drink.  yeah.. think I’ll just drink it.  ‘Sip’ is something serious wine people say and I’m so galactically far from anything serious when it comes to wine or beer, that never mind the writer.  He sips and scribbles.  Or tips and types.  And I’m done.  So done with the day.  Now to traverse in my ale and slight recline into hours latter, detach and levitate about colluded and specific carelessness.