January 13, 2009
Well, I haven’t started back to teaching yet, so I can still breathe and have lunch with friends. Yesterday I had lunch with Lisa and today I had lunch with Cheryl Klein at Poets and Writers and her assistant Jamie and with Adam and Sydney. I still come home at night in a semi relaxed state. My knee has recovered and tomorrow I am going back to running ten miles to see how that goes. I can sit and eat dinner and email, blog and get stuff done while I eat dinner and my iguana eats her lettuce.
This weekend is going to be all about writing since the husband is going out of town. Well that and checking out MOCA. I haven’t been for a while and my friend Elise and I are art lovers so we have to go check that out. But then back to my play, plus since the husband isn’t here I can eat sour cream and herring and anchovies and chicken liver—all stuff he hates – all weekend long. I could watch movies he hates, but I can’t think of any that I want to watch. I could have over people he hates, but I really don’t want to have anyone over, I just want to write. I could also run around the house naked, but my son and a bunch of teenage friends are probably going to be here, so probably that’s not such a good idea. I think I’ll pass on inspiring any more Stacy’s Mom songs.
A new quarter has begun at UCSB and we are mailing a box of our books to our daughter, I swear she became an English major just to borrow from our library. She hardly ever has to buy books now that she’s in the upper classes.
Is it dangerous to be a writer? I think so. I keep fearing the upcoming semester. I know very few writers who teach in the harrowing Cal State system. B.H. Fairchild is an exception. He taught at one for years. I need to get out alive, get a book published and have some other university grab me before they smash me against the wall. Being at the University of Nebraska was a revelation. They treated me like I was human; it was such a surprise, I felt like a daisy with water and sunshine. I think I could grow there even in the snow. I need to write more. Get a real job. I’ll let you know how it goes. In the sunshine, jobs emerge like Shasta daisies, bright and obvious as my friend Annie would say.