Testing self… setting time table

for day and seeing how closely it’s followed.  Giving self five or so minutes to type here on couch before calling law office again, to give an update and hopefully they sing, sign, send contract in today.

4shot mocha this morning.  Poetry in my head, going back and forth in new verses and I try to capture what I can.  October almost over and I don’t want to teach next semester, doing everything I can to feed self and family from this creative, from these pages.

9:40 Jack Kerouac reciting on a track through phone, over on table-desk, desk-table.  Still haven’t figured out what that thing is.

In office, this office…. Quarterly meeting at 2pm over company-elected app.  No lunch run today as I am only allowed to run in morning, early.  Need to shed that fear of running in the dark.  Lunch should be literary, as it was when I worked in Napa, downtown for those marketing idiots, the DTC office that couldn’t make its rent so they took away commissions and bonuses and you only had the crumby salary that allowed you a crumb-consuming allowance.  Miss downtown Napa, and the drive over there.  Still….  Lunch is for literature, no more running.

Two minutes till I call Candy, the office manager’s name.  Appropriate as she’s sweet and conversational, eager to work with me or I think she is.

Going to give her some extra time, or really me extra time at the keys and on the couch.  Fridays now starting to have that Friday feel, and not till now, at 41, have they done that, felt and tasted this way.  Sudden ambient shift in the translation and saunter through a day, just the name, new architecture and siding, color and code.

Write this house.. this Autumn Walk studio… make it more a studio.. place to incubate.  I want to be sad when I have my own office.  And maybe I never will.  I don’t think Sedaris does, does he?  Maybe I should write him too, though I haven’t heard back from Bosker or Irby.

My mind changes too much, and it frustrates the veins out of my already pulse-prone epidermis.  I have too many minds, too many Mike Madigan living here.  Evicting them all, for my health, books, mental health, definitive turns.

9:48, guess I can call her now.  See what Candy’s up to.  Said she had to get the bosses coffee.  Nice of her.  Hope she’s appreciated.  Hope she’s not the typical abused admin.  No one deserves that.  And if she is, after all the years she’s worked there which I think is over ten I remember accurately what she told me, then I hope she snaps, and walks out… pours coffee on their desks, steals pens or manilla folders, paper for printing her CV and cover letter.  Love when my mind wanders like this, not one of the many Me’s but just the essayist playing, with characters, the topic of work, one’s life-work.  Life, work… we spend so much of our time, LIFE, working.  It has to be something we love, right?