Of March. Still not feeling one hundred, and the morning for me is odd, little things happening here and there that aren’t worth page presence, but I’m thinking of 40 and how it’s now quite close. Wanted to wake this morning to run but the facets of whatever bug I have were still dominant. Went to be last night I believe just before or after 8. Woke this morning to wife telling me we slept in, around 7:15 I believe. So, rested, me, yes. But I’m off. In nook with jazz in ears and 4-shot latte, needing today to do something. Looking for other income possibilities, to one day have that house in Monterey or Santa Cruz, on the Oregon Coast, then I remember– Where are you, Who are you, What are you doing. Don’t look for anything. Got it, got it…. Kerouac in Big Sur cabin re-assessing everything around him and in his story so do I now in this morning with this latte and with this cold or whatever I have. Throat still a bit pained, not so much a nasal note, but I’m not my fullest of full selves.
Wife and babies going to Tahoe with fried and her daughter. You’d think I’d be thrilled with the time to self. Not. Not at all. Didn’t see babies last night, and won’t tonight and tomorrow nuit. Know that’s affecting my mood and how I’m composed, now. I’m sure of it. What if I pulled an all-nighter, tonight. Didn’t have dinner with my brother, Jesse, and just ordered in, typed until I found more of what I found this morning with the idea and purposing of classes online. Not so much an English class, or writing class, or ever reading, but FINDING self in the literary. March’s Ides, this Ide, moves me one way, the back into Self to find more Self, seeing self in classroom and staying in classroom.. not needing to look for ANYTHING.