All my blogging wouldn’t mean much to me once I get sick

I thought last night—in bed , maybe?—(I’ve been noticing lately how all the reasoning, all the words, go away at certain low-brain (brain-shutting-down?) times—as going to nap or to sleep, how images just pop to mind (R__—but I was thinking to myself before I saw whom it was, “some nutter”—is mowing lawn right now. My lawn could use to be mowed, too, but you don’t see me doing it now. Grass is probably still too wet)—or how, when I’m exhausted from being sick, I don’t really have any interesting thoughts then. I think I’ve said before that it’s a little remarkable that the whole intellectual realm, all the ideas and philosophy and science and literary, etc.—all of that matters to (and is accessible to) only those who feel well, who aren’t sick. All my blogging wouldn’t mean much to me once I get sick.

[From journal of Sat., 23 July 2016, Journal 232, page 32]

How I can play within that language-world flexibility!

I graded pretty much all day. I mean, I took time to recheck zeroes, take out zeroes of essays that had been submitted, and to conference with kids who hadn’t turned in Career Essay. I let a few of them turn work in Monday morning.

Ah, well. And so it goes. [A former student] posted to Facebook a Vonnegut reading—and [student] said his voice was surprising. I reposted it but haven’t listened to it. Turned off TV after MASH at 7, then

First day of finals is today, as I just wrote under today’s entry in table of contents—chart of contents? List? Anyway, I’m guessing [former student] knew of KVJ from Mr. ___’s class—whereas R__, D__ & I shared Vonnegut with each other, without a teacher, which is actually fine, too, of course. There’s nothing wrong with discovering stuff on your own.

Going over student poems yesterday, the CW1 revised poems, … I noticed I liked some of the sound-alike poems more than [students’] selected poems. I was reminded—on seeing a line about the “panda’s Jupiter,” something like that—that there is, well, or can be, worlds within worlds in terms of poetic language—how open, unfixed, language-world is! …

How I can play within that language-world flexibility! How fun that can be—when I’m not so otherwise exhausted. I have been reading online this morning, and clearly I’m writing and reading what I’ve written, as it’s being written. Now,  but [also] earlier today, I thought that maybe I just don’t want to read any extra at all today. Eh, don’t be so hard on yourself.

[From journal of Fri., 18 Dec. 2015, Journal 218, page 21-2]

I would like to say something deep

I would like to say something deep—and there goes the cat off my lap—in the short time I have left (I read while on toilet about Trump getting rid of DACA and the Savage Love. The AVClub’s new Kinja format is kind of annoying. My sites I read are getting worse—well, not all—but then, I don’t need to be reading entertainment news—and there seem so many “buy this stuff” ads and posts at now).

Anyway, these are merely complaints. Now for a mere wish—I’d like to say something significant today! Right now! Hah, yeah, that isn’t likely to work. Ambition seems disconnected from insight, whatever mental faculties these are. I could write about this note from a couple nights ago: Unsuccessful Time Management as a book title (M has a book Successful … also Tim management?) And I could also write about assumptions–we make–ick. I’m not so keen on that second one—it seemed Earnest, and that’s the problem—not that I want/need to be some laid-back, cool dude—I’m intense and hot quite a bit—if Charlie and M and others are to be believed!

Dreamed somehow I was with [my family], doing some fishing, but all I recall is not being on the water but someone descaling a muskie or big pike and also __ trying to get a fishing line out of a tree.

[From journal of Weds., 6 Sept. 2017, Journal 259, page 75]

Already it’s 5:33, sh!t, 5:34. A moment is no-time. There are no moments.

Already it’s 5:33, sh!t, 5:34. A moment is no-time. There are no moments. What there may be is crystallizations of one’s consciousness, a crystallizing around one idea.

P__ lives near N__—cousins who ended up living near each other.

Just read the ___ profile in Esquire, and it’s less vapid than most profiles but still plenty vapid. But what can you write about someone who’s famous for being a lovely object—and a voice, he mentions her voice—and he talks about basically each moment of her actions (I just said moments aren’t real) so that she must’ve felt like she was acting for him. …

For some dream reason (which is to say, no reason at all?), I dreamed I was back in the old house at __—gone now, it can exist only in my dreams—but I was in my old room upstairs, headboard between the two windows on west wall

(M said ____ is a jerk at court but people let him walk up to the judge because they wanna be done quickly with their biz with him. M said she and others joked about a program to “Be __ For a Day”—be a jerk for a day, basically)

[From journal of Thurs. 17 Ockt. 2013, Journal 187, page 23-4]

So, dog to vet—dog just shivered

So, dog to vet—dog just shivered, just vibrated, while on the exam table. He had a little blood drawn. … M said [vet] sprayed some of the injections on Sam’s fur. I asked, did it get into Sam? M thought yes—so, we hope—$230 there, onto my credit card, which is down to about 900 available credit, I figure. I put on about $1,000 in the last month—live cheaper, Matt—’course, that includes Blick bill for journals and $170 last week at Books on First. But I just remembered I spent $100-plus at B & Nobel—CDs, M’s Astaire-Rodgers DVD—and I’m not sure I recorded that. M could work some more, make some more money. I know, she doesn’t always feel good enough to work, and I’m probably just blaming M because I’m worried about the larger situation—oh, well, you’ll be OK. Money will come. Money’s tight now, yes, but you don’t need to worry about it.

[From journal of 29 Dec. 2011, Journal 151, page 45-7]

I’m back after Sam barked really loud and long

I’m back after Sam barked really loud and long a couple times from west side of house. I saw ___ walking past on ___. I hugged Sam and got my face close to his and then I voiced Sam’s objection, that he’d want me to move so he could see something besides my face. But I told him his nose is cold (it had touched my right ear) and a cold nose is a good nose. He humped the cat’s biscuit-bed and then M’s neck pillow this morn. He gets on a kick sometimes. And Sam wanted in, or looked in but hadn’t pawed for in, after being out since before I started journaling. And yet, I’m still tired—it’s dumb when I go to bed late, as I did Thurs. night. So, I napped most of an hour between 8 & 9 yesterday, got up and made eggs and we left for Rockford—got there about 10. I shopped, got M about 11 (the traffic and lights were favorable. I was doing nearly 60 down Perryville and in middle lane of three westbound State Street lanes between Perryville and Mulford). And we came home. I put away stuff in fridge, watched 2 Law and Orders (season 15 closer, maybe, and s16e1, I think, about a kidnapper bargaining for no jail time ‘cuz he’d hidden the girl) and I quit TV at 2 and napped approx. 2:40 to 4:40, up and M not yet home but soon after, about 5, and I ate a slice of pizza—no, a square of pizza-and yogurt with blueberry jam & cinnamon cereal. And M left to meet __ at her office at about 6 and I followed at about 6:45 after finishing s8e4 of It’s Always Sunny in Phila— with Alexandra Daddario dating Charlie—and then I went there to M’s office. The key copies I had made Thurs. morn seemed to work.

[From journal of Sat., 15 June 2019 , Journal 304, page 58]

But he’s still such an assho!e in public

But he’s still such an asshole in public and on Twitter … I’m now starting to picture ___ as some goofy old man … who doesn’t really understand why what he wants to do is wrong. He’s an old fool, and we’re all—well, not all—but because he’s ___, people to have humor him (what’s the word—act like he’s serious?).

On other hand, there is still the meanness, the attacks, the Roy Cohn advice to deny, deny (which may seem to work to deflect problems but of course eventually costs you your reputation—and people ignore you).

Anyway, now I’m feeling a little bad that I didn’t keep writing. Eh, that’ silly. You’re back now—move on, move along. I wonder why __ & __ are so boring, why they so keep to themselves. Well, I guess that’s better than them being assholes, I guess. It’s hot out, predicted to be nearly 90°—I could still mow tonight but didn’t feel like doing it last night after I came in about 6 and made burritos. I watched Deadliest Catch—Jake Anderson’s SAGA loses an anchor, Sig Hansen gets off at St. Paul Is. and gets flown to Anchorage for heart problems—dude had a heart attack last year and is still smoking! Sh!t, he’s only 51! I mean, I guess that’s old enough, if you’ve been living as hard has he’s been living, fishing, captaining since he was 24—stress, smoking, etc.

[From journal of Weds., 19 July 2017, Journal 256, page 63]