That Eric Hilton album, what I wanted, needed right now feeling some swarming anxiety quakes. Not sure what’s causing them and I don’t have too much time to deconstruct or analyze… pushing through them. Celebrating the close of one book and the opening of the new, I open a beer let self relax don’t think just be and certainly don’t reach the edge of overthinking as I often do. Not now, not with this zen edge.
Not sure why I have nerves before this 5pm call. Why… laugh at it. Another point on the new list, “Humor. There is funny in EVERYTHING.” What am I nervous about? Honestly I have no idea. That’s hilarious, to me.
On everything I love, I’m going to fucking bed EARLY tonight. Right after dinner. Should be home I’m guessing at, what, close to 10? Should look at the menu, I usually do and my mom always does.
Oh my god…. Looks amazing, everything, and I’m just realizing I haven’t eaten today. As busy and tired as I was, am, I get it. Sense my writing way changing, thinking about dinner and cuisine, food and cooking and I just don’t seem to have that kind of brain. I literally can’t cook, well… can I cook? Sandwiches don’t count, I know. Maybe I should take lessons or hang out with more chefs, or start cooking with Ms. Kerri…
Staring at the laptop, zoning out to the current track. If I can wake tomorrow at 5, pound out a run at the gym, then come home, 1000 words, do errands after, lunch with lawyer friend Paul at noon…. Tomorrow already taking shape. Again overtaken by gratitude, how much I feel in this office, thinking of all I’ve written here since moving in, in April. Wow…. 6 moths, half a year, passed.
One day, only this. The blogs, books, and whatever else associated. A wine shop maybe, or wine bar. Something with wine. It’s too. Much of the story. Reminding me how short life is, how you have to be present and stop letting your self be stuck by fear’s spear.
Already over a thousand words for day. And how the shit did that happen? 4:29, call getting closer. Fuck that call… thought about hiring myself for self, to get my writing life where I want and need. So, me hiring #blogeverythingnow for #professormikey…. How do I want to be seen as a writer? More poet and diarist than conventional essayist or even blogger. Need to think about it a bit
The Orin Swift labels and stories, David’s short stories…. Me as an adjunct, those days behind me obviously but still here. The students, their writings and all the conversations I’ve had since starting in ’06. Oh my god, makes me feel so fucking old. I’m not old though. I mean, I don’t feel old. I do recognize I’m not 24 or 37, or even 40. But I don’t feel old.
I make ME feel old. Idiot. Changing…