Jack just asked me if I’m bored. I tell him I’m not. I tell him I make it fun. “Do I make it fun?” He asks me. I laugh, then we start talking back and forth in Irish brogues. “Jahkeh Chez, whaht arr ya doin in there, ya crazeh chiLd?” Not sure I’m doing an Irish accent too much credit with how I write the inflection, but he’s still doing it and making me laugh, and I don’t want to work anymore today, I’ve decided.
Both contracts sent out, nothing returned. Can’t write during day like this. Has to be done early and late. Take notes in between, my new routine. So is this a note then? Maybe.
Jack absolutely losing his mind…. He’s mocking me now, with no fear of consequence or me getting mad, which I like. Don’t want my kids to be afraid of me of course, and in terms of the respect factor I’m giving him certain passes in this time of incarceration.
Am I bored? No… can’t let myself be. But more than usual since this lockup. What do you write? I keep asking myself. EVERYTHING. Maybe that’s the title for this book – written like this, ‘what do you write everything’. No punctuation. NONE.
3:57. Want a glass of that white I bought at Oliver’s. Bought a red for dinner, some Mourvedre from a winery in Anderson Valley. I know the winery I just don’t know how to spell it. Will post on other blog, later.