a check

3:01pm.  Clocking in, 12 & Mission.  Much preferred to Farmers.  One minute late, technically.  Off to finish grading.  Giving Self till 3:45p.  Need this mocha, as I’m fading faster than I can control.  Across from me, man on phone, talking with oddly curious volume.  Why can’t he have this conversation in his car, or at home?  Don’t get people.

3:28pm.  Done with papers.  2 minutes ahead of Top Chef-like time table.  Annoying man, leaving.  He was at one of those larger tables I prefer.  But I have the corner table, smaller and circular, here on the long cushion.  Thinking I’ll write till 4:45pm.  1hr, 16min.  But for what?  The BOOK, of course.  But I won’t be typing.  Not anymore today, after this entry.  Already donated 1200+ words to its content.  Want to see my scribbles, like Kelly watches that paint fly across whatever her most recent blankness.  Wonder what she thinks when she sees her blank canvas.  The blank page has never scared me, as it does many writers.  Not sure why.  Look at my fingers fly now, across the keypad.. I always have something to purge.  Not sure if that’s necessarily a positive quality, but that IS me.  Another sip of the mocha…  Not one drop of stress about me.  Feels incredible.  All grading, away.  All I have to do is WRITE.  Soon, I’m hoping, this 2B my Life.  Don’t know why I say it like that, with that word arrangement.  I know it will.  And in many ways, it already is.  Looking at the cars rush south on Mission.  Makes me think of the drives to Oregon, there and back really, as a kid.  Miss Sunriver.  The writing I did there in ’09 was some of the most atmospherically-influenced material I’ve ever produced.  Paris, too.  Need the road–  I know, I know.. the wish list.  Topic next.

Yes, this seat, this café, calls for pen, paper.  Not a device.  That’s certain.  Especially with what I’m listening to, on this Pandora station.  Peace, much attributed to no one sitting near me.  I’m in need of this isolation.  Time to just react.  Class tonight, simple.. consistent with my consistency obsession.  302: collect essays, assign reading, dismiss, more than likely early.  100: rough draft workshop, office hour, dismiss.  I’ll pass back what I graded for both sections, of course.  A little startled, as today actually felt like a day off.

3:42pm.  Time to leave device.  One last reflection: time, it’s catching me and everything I do.  But I think it lacks the Life I put onto page.  So, it can’t win.  It can only get into my head, disrupt vision occasionally.  Not now.  Not at this table.  And then someone sits to my left.  Not too close, but I’d rather he not be there at all.  Two women, where the odd man was, sitting with blueprints between them.  I imagine them opening some shop, in L.A.  Or San Fran.  Seattle maybe.  I’d go, support their venture.  I support all entrepreneurs, I’d like to think.  Anyone who doesn’t have some pigeon-liver’d pig of a “boss,” manager and/or owner, over them, I support.  Especially if they’ve left of their own volition.

Then, I’m stuck.  Maybe I should leave, write in my temporary “office” on campus.  But do I want to be there already?  Yes.

Some woman just sat right next to me.  She could be reading this, actually.  She sips a juice box unnervingly loud.  Now I’m annoyed.

And leaving.