5/23/19

Wine.  All I can think about.  Somehow making it, its business and industry do more for me.  Six days from 40.  Feeling immeasurably better than I did.  A little sinus pain but other than that I’m essentially fully recovered.  And the here-and-there cough.  Writing, teaching, how the semester’s gone, and I’m on my own with these thoughts, or not.  What’s in my head I don’t know right now finishing this latte, about 50 minutes from when I need leave and head straight for office.  I’m overthinking, a lot, I just said to self just noticing looking out the window and up seeing clouds wondering if it’s going to rain a-goddamn-gain.

In the Richmond District again, today.  Windy again, more than likely.  How to make today different, as I always say I’m going to.  How…. Maybe take a step back.  Observe more.  Say less.  Make notes, or not.  How about just BE, in the moment on whatever street.

Why am I writing, now.  What do I want.  What do I hope to hold.  Wine, or travel, or both.  Yes and yes, but something else.  What I’m not particularly clear.  Mom has often recommended I stop writing for a bit, collect then return when something constricts me.  Thinking now may be one of those walks, stops.  So, I stop.  Put laptop away, and only note in the Kerouac pages she bought me.

 

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051519

In office.  Busy.  Keeping self.  Aims for day written in head.  Run.  Send kind notes to as many characters as possible.  Last day of reg term.  Already progressed further than I thought I would have by this point in day. Relieved to be in office, frankly.  Latte, caffeine working.  Poetic and moving, speaking to self through poems and songs from drive till now, starting when I took the Stony Pt. exit from 12.

Using what I note on Leads and Reps, and into my own story, self-instructions and education.

This place uses the idea of “action items”, quite a bit.  Part of me thinks it’s a bit trite and stale as an idea, but I just thought, “Why not try it out?”  My item for day, FINISHED PIECES.  To SELL.  Think about it, I say to myself, what if you could sell every piece you write? Hmmmmmmm……

9:59, don’t want to run.  I’ll try to make myself.  TRY.

I’ll be a poet laughing at day’s close, just as I was yesterday with Jack.

Constant creative.  DIY, but more than that.  Write and create and speak from everything.  Creative opportunities.  Everything, every break and in-office effort is a creative opp’…

12:43.  In running reality, clothes.  Going to head out.  Not concerned with rain, at all.  More than enough energy.  A bit hungry, but ignoring.  Will eat when back.

Launching in 10 minutes.  Go slow, start slow I mean, I tell myself.

 

2:28.  7.5 miles.  And I feel nothing.  Not overheated, of course it’s raining and cool.  But still… only pain is in right heel/achilles.  Not much appetite.  Sipping sparkling cherry water.  Feel amazing, but still feel nothing.  Could I run the rest, the 5.51 or whatever.  Easily.  Need to stretch out right leg, so whatever I feel there doesn’t build and compile, lead to anything else.

 

3:52.  Now feeling a bit of tired from run.  Sipping coffee, working through it.  Wondering what to do for rest of day… of course plan for tomorrow, which I already have but can always do more.  So I will.  Now.  Measure my productivity and write it and self into more productivity and I’m starting to hate that words.. So what then.  Projects.  Books.  Everything around me to be written., composed and positioned, angled as I need not so much as I like.

My stratagem is the day itself.  This office and this desk, the 7.5 I ran rather than eating or scrolling though some feed on my phone, or even writing.  Ephemeral, ephedra… echo echo.  I’m dancing in my own head, on this last day of the semester.  Should plan for that too.  Have them write, something, anything, as soon as they come in, or as 7pm lands.

4:18.  Coffee nearly done.  Know what I’m doing for class. Feel a bit of soreness or strain in calves, and starting to feel a bit hungry.  What to do…. Snack here, get something at JC?  Look at this, look at me… overthinking to hellish bellring degree.

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