by clothing store and not buying anything. Sent link to Engineer, and now to canvassing. Stay in chair, I tell myself. Don’t listen to that voice saying how bored he is and how he has to get out of the house. STAY. You’ll be int he field next week. Stay at the desk. Look outside.. pretend you’re looking at the ocean, Monterey Bay from the beach house. Jesus, it’s only 2pm.
Sipping sparkling water. Thinking how I better enjoy this quiet, ’cause it’s going to get loud and crazy and scattered and implosive when the kids get home. Is it too early for wine? Thought about driving to Hook & Ladder, or Arista, or some winery that I go to from time to time, but I have wine at home. Is it too early? Yes… far too early.
Thinking of cures for what some would call writer’s block. “Writer’s block”. In quotes ‘cause I don’t believe it exists. I mean, I know people think they have it, myself included here and there, but… okay, anyway, a cure. One, write about the block, or to it. Maybe that’s too easy and meta. Write to yourself, what do you want or wish you could have right now? Write that to reality. You wish you were in Aspen, say… skiing or at one of their fancy food & wine events. Do a little research and WRITE. Yes, I may be encouraging fiction…. Well, no, if you’re imagining it now as you, then it would be nonfiction just putting yourself imaginarily somewhere else, right? This is me now, wishing self to the beach house… and thinking of fiction, stories, just making shit up. One story about a winemaker, shocker. Another about an English professor, then another about a pilot…. And I leave it at that. It’s this house, poisoning my focus and written form, but I won’t let it. It’s Mike Madigan versus Autumn Walk. Let’s duel.
Another Amazon Prime truck drives by the window, parks, delivers to the crazy lady across the street. That company still occupies this street like a military, like corporate commerce panzers. Sipping sparkling water again, and I see him park at a house just a few doors down from her. Damn that guy’s busy. I would never want to work that hard.
One of the English 5 students texts me, passively apologizing for missing class again on Wednesday. I tell her no worries, then think of moving… how it sucks, and how any instructor that would penalize her for doing so is a monster. I tel her I hope she had an easy move, thinking of some of my moving days and how I had help and now feel guilty for all the help offer and that I accepted. Not sure why I’m dwelling on it, I mean people have to move and family is always there to help, just where my thinking finds itself after the student’s text.