New plan for New Year. Simple, cogent, effortlessly applicable: all from journals; either long works or short; topics and forms of my choosing. So, concisely: write whatever in the world I wish. Tonight, sipped a beautifully tasty ’09 Cab. Saving the second half for tomorrow night. New Year’s eve. No planned party this year. Spending it on page, finishing this book, as tomorrow’s the last day to contribute new material to its territory. Taking a break from the current short story, which I’m loving, presently. Two students, contrasting perspective conceptions. Stopping there. All notes, details, in the Comp book. Elated by knowledge, the certainty of, sleeping in, tomorrow.
May open a Chardonnay tomorrow night. Need to drink more white, I realized this morning, in the curiously formatted fog. Shockingly, there was quite a bit of mist on my return home, additionally. Not sure of the significance, but it ordered reflection, introspection, nonetheless. Can already hear song from the morning mocha. But maybe I shouldn’t have one, turn differently for this new year. 2012, hopefully putting my pages on shelves, in hands, homes.
While upstairs, washing my face, I realized that 2011 was the first year since ’05 where I didn’t lecture a single day, didn’t teach. I will be back in a classRoom, soon. In the capacity I deserve. Stanford, still in sights, steady. Would love to have another class, or two, three, discussing fiction, theory, Literature, writing, art, film... I’ll take this to 2nite’s dreams, into 2morrow. I’m selfish, I know. But if I don’t write for Self, who will? 11:24p. Eyes, heavier than they were in the preceding paragraph. Aside from quitting mochas, potentially, maybe I should wake earlier on days off. Fit in more writing, complete projects quicker. This new year, promising little challenges I’ve never before projected. Preparing for storm, safety, strain, vision. Next vintage.