10:23PM… long day tomorrow. Not in a good mood now, so I pour self another glass of the Lancaster I opened to relax, try to end day on a note somewhat harmonious. Throwing away the old manuscript and writing a new one. Tired of regularity. But enough with that. Where’s the power cord to this laptop? Who knows… mad at self for failing NaNo. Need to sell writing. Sell something. You need money.. fuck! Not like I don’t have any now. Actually, I’m more comfortable financially than I’ve been in a while. But more always helps. Who couldn’t use more money, right? Thinking tonight about following through on projects and how I seldom do, and how I need to change that, and what would have gone differently had I done this, and had I done that— Fuck, I need another glass of the Lancaster. Just one more, right? Who couldn’t use another glass of wine every now and again and always?
I have so much grading to do it’s not at all funny. OR, yeah it is. It’s lovingly funny. On page 2. So what. What is page two if there’s not much with it to do? What does that mean? I don’t know. In a weird mood after today and after today’s ending. More and more, I see when people sip past a certain totem, their presence becomes putrid. But I’m no one to judge. We’ve all been there. And you know what I mean by “there”. “Oh, I haven’t. I’ve never been there, Mike, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Good for you. Wow, good for you. Tonight’s one of those nights when after balancing my finances and all the numbers in that goddamn checkbook register I need to balance and inventory other worlds. Okay… Keep going… Well, I don’t know where else to go in that ire, really. I just need to clean some shit up. Sipping slow, this ’10 Nicole’s, which I really shouldn’t have opened but I did and now I’m at a questioning quandary, a cognitive impasse. Am I sipping too fast? Am I sipping too slow? If I sip too slow I’ll be up too late then wake too late then the mood will be back. Goddamn that mood.
National Novel Writing Month… Why did I even bother? I can still finish, with my memoirist skips, not fictive. I’ll give self till the end of the year.. so a 30+ day extension. Always thought I was a gentle and kind professor. But enough with that, the teaching shit… what can I sell? No more fascinations of the small publications. You need to push yourself to selling books… 100 pages or more. And there I go again in my ‘promises, promises’ mode (hear the 80’s song in my head…). But then what, I mean I have to have a plan of some kind and that plan would be a sort of promise, oui? Sipping the wine so I shut up. That sip, rather small for me, but it makes the wine last longer and my relationship with this Lancaster offering extended— more conversation and more sensibility about its structure and feel, presence and promises (song, again…). I’m just going to keep sipping, keep typing, keep going and see where this all takes me.