4:56am. Had alarm set for 5am, but glad to show I’ve it beaten. No sounds from the little Artist, but that could so quickly change. My new rule, that I’ve been quite stringent with, these last couple days: pen2paper first! But this morning, this session in the dark, downstairs on couch, begged typing, the laptop’s light.
Everything in my writing’s fair for picking, I’ve decided, as it pertains to books, I’ve only now, here on this couch, decided. No more “blog aging,” as I’ve before lamented. If it’s written, it’s candidate for binding. And the PhD, my main project. But when I enter, I’ll already be established with page. So weighing the two’s nothing new.
The more I read Ms. Plath’s pieces, the more exploration I see– But I won’t let mySelf talk about it here, follying with specifics. I’ll leave that for the paper itself. With yesterday’s lunch, actually, scribbled nearly a full page in journal, while in my car, no eating distraction (solely on Plath). Also a full poem, then a whim’d haiku.
Now past 5 (5:02a). Noticing I’m quite in grumble, stomach, like I haven’t eaten in days. Strange. Looking very much forward to my coffee, as you might imagine. But I don’t dare. That’d pull my little one right from his rest. Fridge, humming. One of the scenic staples of these early couch sessions. Don’t know how much scene there is, as I only see what’s at my 12: this screen, the buttons. If I look right, I can see a couple lights in TV’s area; on TV itself, then the cable box, or DVD. I think. Something. But this is a featureless scape down here; one from a stage play with a very ominously prominent purpose.
At work today, in TR. Pouring of course. But I’ll have my new little notebook with, once I buy it. Was going to yesterday, but had a time drought. Playing with little Kerouac, organizing journal, which Plath book I wanted to shuttle. But I’m not expecting the busiest of days, with Thanksgiving holiday being done, many traveling, or doing regular retail shopping. This time of year, stressing so many. Why is that? I mean, it’s understandable, but I don’t fully perceive.
Still no word from Mendocino. Not letting it bother me. Even a little. I’ve decided to point my Creative arms, in addition to the doctorate writing, towards full-time/tenure positions at CC’s. But nothing’s offered. Not that I’ve recently seen. My lesson plans now, and how I approach the class, how I’m taking more ownership/exercising more Creative license, only makes me distinguished as a FT candidate. Matter of time. And I’ll show you.
5:10am. I expect the heater to come on any minute, as it’s Arctic down here– And as if reading along, there it flies. These sessions: I want to be addicted. No wine at night, only decaf, taking the first steps toward the next A.M.’s early key pushes. This is just what Plath AND Mr. Hemingway did, according to my research. 5AM, the magic hour. Made for manuscripts. Oh but a cup of the most venomous coffee would push me like nothing else– Yes, but lately Kerouac’s been waking around 5:30a, so I imagine him being very susceptible, sensitive to any auditory stimuli right now, so I’ll wait. In fact, I’ll wait till I hear the first sound from him. Or not. Just focus on your types, Mike. That’ll collude as your caffeine.
Tuesday: Go to café straight from Lisa’s. Try to shower the night before, while Alice feeds Jack, or prepares him for bed. If I’m in café at 9a, or slightly after, then I can write straight for at least two hours. Then prep for the last four sessions of English 5. Our last of last sessions, December 19th, at 10am, should be quite short as a meeting. But even if were to last the schedule’s published 2 hours, I’d still have from 12-something till 5ish to write. Lovely. Same for the 1A section, Dec 17th. “Final” commences at 4pm, which gives me from 9am (after leaving Kerouac) till just before 1A’s concluding meeting. Illustrious.. can hardly hold mySelf in wait.
Just noticed, today’s December 1st. Huh.. how did that happen? Time, enjoy your latest victory, devil. And with the heat off, the writer feels his latest chill. It slides up my arm like some sort of odd beach draft, scaling bordering tower cliffs. 5:21am… Another for Time. So speedy, sneaky, hurtful. Just have to keep writing, let my consciousness stream as it likes to do. But I hate that term, “stream of consciousness.” I feel it’s simply a phrase, anymore, that people use to separate themselves from others, with some sort of pseudo-educated distinction, only making glow their abhorrent arrogance. So what “phrase” WOULD I use? I don’t know. Something simple. Like… “Rushed.” ‘Rushed writing’.
So what do you write, they always ask. Always. ALWAYS! As if it’s so simple to them–them who rarely, if ever write anything expressive, or reflective (CREATIVE!), outside their ever-safe “profession.”
I write ‘rushed writing’, from a journal.
But like poetry, fiction, essays, what?
First, it aggravates me that they keep pressing, like I owe them explanation, specifics. But, I from now onward will say, “It changes.” You reeky dizzy-eyed apple-john.
5:28am. Now, a little tired. And cold. This temperature, downstairs here, seems after me with the same vendetta that Time itself has always practiced. But, again, all I can do is write– or here, type. Wish it Tuesday so bad. Want to be in classRoom, see what the students have done for their last paper. Will be posting to teaching blog at some point today. Hopefully. And I hope to do the same as yesterday’s lunch, both with Plath in addition to my poems. But I may eat something– No. Don’t do that. Eating doesn’t finish MSS quicker. I’m not trying to starve Self, but there’s a time to feast, then a time write, re-read.
5:33. No sounds from my little Artist. If I don’t hear from him by 6, I’ll start with my morning cup stream. Met a gentleman yesterday, in the only group I had (out on concrete area.. the old lawn bar, party of 18), who confessed to 3 cups in morning, if I’m not misquoting. He, a new law school grad, on his last outing before a crazed study sprint for the bar. This too motivates me for doctorate. Speaking of, I should use a few minutes to see what FT possibilities there are, currently. One minute, kind reader…..
No. Not a single offering. I view this as favorable; I’ll take the void to prepare my submission packets. Study what They want, and write my way in.
Yes, WRITE and TEACH my way in.
Heater, returning to sceneless scene’s faculty [pun intention, obvious, at least to me].
5:41am. Time to read the damage I’ve done. Coffee, soon. And book, just as proximal, with all being usable material. So much easier, when pages consolidate, amalgamate.
Also on Tuesday: order books, for SRJC.
Think I heard the little Artist.. yes, he’s ready for his day.