Taking out certain aspects and habits entirely to further and better purpose the story. Not that you want to be someone else, but you want to decide new directions for self.
Up with coffee, me. Refusing to get Starbucks for self, or spend any money today beyond the breakfast I promised last night to Jack and Emma.
My last week off coming up. Preparing for the week after, any chance I can. The feeding schedule for Henry is tremendous is its time consumption, so any chance even waiting for takeout like this morning, need be spent writing— But then I feel it again, like I can’t write. Like I have nothing to write or write about. Of course people in my support corner will rally and snarl at certain self-laceration, like Mom, but it’s what I’m experience enow and not the first time.
I want that look of one of my students, telling me they spent the entire day on homework bench, doing project after project and taking notes I could see over zoom the other week while I was talking.
Teaching self again how to write…. I’ve note this in past entries and ones recent I’m pretty sure. But that’s the dominant idea and stride for the day…. Revise, refashion and fancy myself a student today. Studying…. What. Writing. An English Major again, I guess. I know I talk about Sedaris all the time and I just finished his Owls book with the 1A students, but I’m reading today any chance I get and noting observations… reactions, typing them out. Doing as I say students to do, when I only expect them to do. Now it’s my turn to DO.
Earlier this morning, in fact first thing, there was a malefic shootout between the big kids over what show to watch. Emma, getting emotional, crying and growing and pleading with Jack whereas her older brother continued to taunt her, laugh, mimic her. I found it educating in that emotion was not there at all for him, and he observed only comedy in the interaction. I didn’t of course, till now. How peculiar though, that an 8 y/o can modify and change his mood on queue. Part of today’s re-write… write jokes, or comedic interpretations more so, of what you see. Even this cup of coffee, the cup it’s in… like an off-white grandma-style cup with those lined beads as part of the design, part of the ceramic’s skin toward rim. Why don’t I have my own coffee cup? “Amazon Prime.” I say to myself. Since quarantine they’ve been like an occupying and surveying troop collecting in our neighborhood. I one time joked that they’re like RA’s, like for college villages and dorms. One of my neighbors heard the joke, but didn’t laugh. She never laughs, is never happy, is never pleasant, is never someone I want to be around. She’s the type that would have coffee cups like this in her home. Tons of them, an overload in inventory. Amazon, go to Amazon.. NOW!
Found one. Perfect for me. With Philosophy and Literature quotes on them. Not buying it today. Keep promise of not buying beyond breakfast for kids. Going to same place I did yesterday for MAF and I.
Feel weird going two days in a row. Are they thinking something like, “Jesus, doesn’t this guy know how to cook an egg?” Or “He does know there are other spots in Sonoma County for breakfast, right?”
I’ve re-written my attitude. Don’t care what they’re thinking. At all. I write what they’re to think, what they actually are thinking. Funny how writing works… and it does work that way, if you want it to.