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.