a reciprocal thigmotropism, like those vines reaching for and grabbing to whatever they can. While waiting of coffee, I decided to continue with the morning’s meditation, of me writing, the act of writing and reading, reacting to Sal and Dean’s intersections and separation. Watching the baristas from this seat along the wall, right with the windows, I wonder when they got here. How long they will be working here, and where they go, to what next job after this one.
Trying to define self the same way I do wine. Today, another at work, but I’ve found something else… more refusal. Refusal of pattern, others’ clocks, the expectation. Me writing, right here, like this, this is my IT. Self-assessment not so much as it is a self-exploration… the archeology metaphor or simile, I guess, again. I’m stronger than I thought I was, and surviving what I did when 16, I’m done with certain perceived certainties. Working as others work, nodding my head as others do in inner-dismay that their world may be disrupted, that there could be a reaction. And what if there is, I think now at 39, 23 years after surviving what I did. Oh, I can’t wait to be at the winery with this nerve and verve, new faith.
Keeping self typing, looking at the pen next to my keyboard, the copy of Road in bag. Think it’s my first copy, I think, from semesters past, years ago, now having to put one of those clips, metal, at spine, otherwise the pages will undo and fly wherever they can. A time in my life, now, compared to 16, just-21, mid-twenties when I met wife while working at that wine brokerage office or whatever that guy did, late twenties when married, when Jack was born, then Emma/Ms. Austen… and now. Now. Now is the Now where I do IT.
Me, this, writing. My mocha, only 3 shots this morning as I drank most of what I last night brewed with Keurig. It’s more than finding self, about finding a self or sense therein and of, but understanding where you are, what you’re doing, why you’re there doing what you’re doing. That’s what I’ve found int here past weeks.
Writing more notes on novel… Kelly, what she sees on daily, what she paints, where she wants to go. Like me, in a word, everywhere. But before writing her story, I have to further unearth in mine. I’m present, in this present, realizing more magic in the meta of things and people and table corners, napkins, coffee cups than I ever stressed this past term to students. My coffee talks, more to the questions I have and any lingering doubts, urging jettison each. IT… your IT, once held you’ll be greedy with it, possessive, like with my wine words when I meet a bottle that catalyzes verse, lights the music thought wick.. this, the IT to it all. Refusing to do anything else, anywhere, for anyone else’s reasons or reasoning.