Sunday, April 18, 2010

Waking, Maybe

4/18/10, Sunday. The date looks better like that. Wrote nothing yesterday but a couple Room Notes. If yesterday’s feel and elements were to constitute a character, it would be monstrous, harsh, tyrannical, hellish. One character, a woman in her 40s, poured for herself. She was with someone who thought she was important, and thought she was above human behavior, decency. Going back in today, hoping the waves aren’t as high, the storm isn’t as intent of crushing the character of this author.
Drunks in the Room. Not sure what to say about these belligerent barnacles. Such gorbellied dizzy-eyed bladders. Can’t tolerate nor scorn their ways, their lack of composure, or balance, speech. They’e barely mortal. Puny milk-livered mammets.
No sound in this home study of mine. A couple of the notes I yesterday captured were for the sake of Monday’s lectures. If I’m going to press forward with teaching, and truly merge it with literary effort/s, I must be completely unparalleled, defiant. Today, after the after shift beer with the crew. As much as it mangles me to type that, I must be productive, and conserve funds. Let’s, you and I, reader, see how I do with demonstration of diligent discipline...

8:57p. No. I went out, with Stan and his wife, Avril. Offered some input on her essay assignment, concerning Zora Neale Hurston’s ‘Eyes Were Watching God’. While at 3rd, a couple of guys from Santa Cruz, that visited the tasting Room today, sent over a pint of IPA, thanking me for my hospitality, I guess. Either way, I was surprised, and endlessly grateful. This has never happened. Beginning to see the characters from the Room as, mostly, wonderful people. Me, a fool. A cynical slug. Hope these blokes soon make a return.
The Room was agreeable this day. Stan, Mark, Jack, Lonny, Cara, Cam, Kellina, and the Self. I was still heavy from the day previous, easily agitated. But, the shift went smoothly. One wine club, and a good flow of sales, I guess. Don’t care about how many glass towers of fermented grapes I vend. Me, enjoying no profit. Took a couple notes, the weather was ideal, unreal, of an ethereal feel. Going to enjoy my night, no grading.
Not going to hit 1k. To be honest, I think that any word requirement a writer places upon Self is of significant detriment. The objective of these free pages, entries, is to be free. Tasted some amazing wine today in the Room. Blends, Cabs, Zins. Need to immerse the Self in production. But how?

Kelly walked outside, to have the jog of her month. She initiated her pace with trepidation, peace. She thought about the end of her semester. These classes didn’t shake her. That was the problem. On her right arm was a scar that she acquired when she was three, playing on the fence of her neighbor. She recalled the game of chase that escalated into a hysterical set of aimless dashes. She missed those days. The piling responsibilities in her Now were weights, waging war on her core. She remembered what one of her professors last term told her: “Interests and affinities evolve, and revolve.” Did she want to be a teacher anymore?

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