Running for Home - 10. September 1, 2021

September 1, 2021

First week’s done. I am starting to wonder if I will ever have time to write a new book while I’m working here. So much planning work, so much marking. I’m tired as hell, and I don’t even have the energy to write something here most of the time, let alone fiction or some good non-fiction/opinion journalism that actually matters. Fuck.

I need to do something this weekend. I’m actually sitting on a bench out by the lake working on my laptop as I type this. I think the students are avoiding me, because it’s too nice a day for them not to be taking up every inch of space in the back property. I’m not sure if they are allowed to be swimming in the lake. I would be, regardless of the rules. I’ll take fresh water over chlorinated any day. I’m glad I’m getting some sun, though. I didn’t really leave the building this week, and I need to do better than that. Staying inside all the time is one of those things that I’m not supposed to do anymore. I mean, it’s not like when I was living on my own (while Dom was in jail), and I sometimes would just hermit up. At least I’ve got some forced socializing because of work. It might not be the ideal kind, but it’s something I guess.

I’m having a strange moment right now where I’m missing some of my time at UCLA. It was a bit of a weird experience being a mature student, but in some ways interacting with all those 18-23 year olds was good for my mind. Choosing to be with the Brotherhood at such a young age robbed me of the typical college experience, and I’d found myself yearning to be like them sometimes. I got lucky and had a small group of misfits that I’d hang with occasionally in my final year, but after that they all scattered to the wind and we lost touch. As much as that sucked, I wonder if dealing with my classmates and hanging with the misfits has maybe set me up to be in a place where I’m not going to want to kill my students pretty much all day, every day. Then again, things changed after I graduated a few years ago. Once Dom came back from jail, my social contacts dwindled to almost nothing. I wouldn’t say he was being controlling, nothing like that. I just didn’t… I don’t know. I didn’t have the energy. He was taking up so much of my attention because I wanted to make things work, and I felt like I needed to be nesting in order for that to happen. Well, we all know how that turned out. Fucking bastard.

I’m not going to let his asshatery ruin my mood, though. I have this sensation of relief right now. I got through the week and I didn’t kill anyone. I got through the week and I felt a lot less awkward up at the front of the classroom than I expected, especially today. I got through the week, and I feel like doing the same thing again next week won’t drive me to gash out my eyes with a spoon.

So, what to do this weekend?

I need to decompress, to let things settle. Part of me feels like I should drive in to New York and have some fun in the city. Maybe check out the MoMA, and get lost in the NY Public Library. I should fake things and get a library card so I can take advantage of all the cool shit there. Then again, the city’s probably going to be too intense after everything this week. Maybe I should just go on a drive instead, get myself fucking lost and then use my phone’s GPS to get back here. I have a sleeping bag from when I took a camping trip in Yosemite looking for some inspiration. The weather is supposed to be nice. Maybe I can find somewhere to park my ass overnight in the Catskills and just enjoy the stars.

I should be writing, though, not wasting my time with this shit. I really should be writing, but the Muse, that fucking bitch, is remaining elusive. Teaching this week has been anything but a mental reboot when it comes to getting her to give me my writing flow. Maybe if I spend the weekend channeling Thoreau I’ll be able to get her to give me a writer’s booty call in the evenings this week. If I have the fucking energy, I guess. Maybe even if I don’t. At this point I'm willing to sacrifice a little sleep to pound out a few hundred words on the keyboard each night.