The school semester starts at SFSU this week and we are trying to summon excitement, or at least energy. Andy and I are restless, moody, searching for things outside of our daily routines of work and writing. Maybe it's just winter, the deadening effect it can have, but we find ourselves impatient with the things that normally sustain us.
We did spend a lovely weekend with my brother in Long Beach just spending time with him, driving around listening to a recording of Charles Bukowski. Contemplating visiting Bukowski's grave in nearby Palos Verdes, but never making it there. He's not a poet most literary writers would admit reading, but there's an undeniable spirit to his work. And spirit is what seems to be missing from so much "literary" writing I encounter.
I always bring my running shoes on these kinds of trips, but never make it out running, and I wonder if part of my ennui is a sort of withdrawal. Anyway I can't wait to get out tonight, even just for my scheduled short run.
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