One more glass of the Oliver’s Cab then have some ice-cream, real and do the evening thing of watching a movie and taking notes, posting something here and there.  Tomorrow’s my long day but I don’t anymore acknowledge it as long as teaching doesn’t interest me.  Engaging students in REAL discussions on writing interest me.  Not conforming to some curriculum coffin.  There I go on my whatever trail, tangent-talk.

Why am I so excited about the rain.  Why do I keep thinking about my life’s work?  Why do I keep thinking about life and if it were to end.  Just put everything out there, I tell myself and anyone reading.. book blog journal post-it note fucking whatever.

This is certainly the HST in me, and to my benefited Personhood perpetuity.

Glass empty.  Fill.  Then ice-cream.  I’m 41 and I still get riled at the prospect of ice-cream like I were still a little one with Mom and Dad at that ice-cream shop on Laurel, San Carlos.  But now I’m 41.  I’m forty-fucking-one.