Awake with Kerouac. 7:32am. Have to get ready for work. Already have papers to grade set aside, in entryway. Have to chase Jack, be right back– [4/17]
9:07am, 4/18. Didn’t get that grading done yesterday, which means no writing in adjunct office today. Only grading.. not exactly excited. Well, I kind of am, as it gets me closer to this semester’s end. I’ll be honest, I need the break, the singularity of wine world wage. But by semester’s end, I hope to have at least a couple copies sold. At the least. My writing’s beginning to flatten, and it probably has already in some readers’ eyes. How to heighten, resurrect it.. the Road. Travel. Seeing all beyond normality. That’s my truth, it always has been, frankly.
Jackie, quite engaged with his toys, how they sing back to him, or propel some musical number. Makes me think of what moments are chosen in Life, by us, the choosers. The Gatsby night, just this past Saturday [details of which stay reserved for book, or some later release], still in vision. What certain libation depth does, how it folds and unfolds characters. I’m sure that’s just what Fitzgerald wanted to show.. part of what he wanted to expose.
Now, my little Artist slams his hands on the armoire, as if to say, “Turn on the TV!” No polluting image box for us, this morning, my little friend. Only music. Actually, time for station change…
Much better. Speaking of staples musical, I wrote a 43-line verse last night, to that glass of Zin. Yes, only a glass. Haven’t been drinking as much wine, lately. Especially since Gatsby night, and before that– since my last bug bout. [So funny.. right now, Jack bobs his head to the antagonizing syncopations, as if he wants to dance, or recite something to the track.] All moneys, to Schwab1 account.. for house, SELF-publishing. Have over $1,000 to inject, today if I wanted. But my only focus is closing this semester, getting that infernal grading done. Not packing anything other than the papers, a couple books, the teaching Comp Books (which does have a few scribbles for book). After this last push, or one of them, the term’s remainder’s a sleigh.
Alice, on her way back from gym, with morning mocha. Not sure I need it. Breaking from blog to re-read last night’s verse. Need more of that escalated level intensity. Jack approaching, have to close monster laptop. My little Artist pushes quite instructionally, this A.M. Readying Self for grading. It will be a decisive blow to my outstanding workload. Hate having things over me hang. Distracting to the writer.. damaging, really.
With mocha in channel, I’m a Mickey Mantle. Swinging at ideas– actually, bringing laptop, in case I finish surprisingly early. Need to inoculate book more with older sessions.
3:18pm. Been on campus for over an hour now. Finished grading, for the most part. Won’t be passing them back, but rather having them email me for grades. Need to spend tonight’s sessions talking about research papers– I mean, POSITION papers. I find out which Fall classes I’ll be able to teach, this Monday. 4 days away. Beautiful outside. Want a Diet Coke. So, to book store. Need a walk. Want to clear head. Not write. Just observe, think. Counting finals meeting, and tonight: only TEN meetings left.
On the other side of the door, they’re watching something on sexual fetishes. Odd. Quite a surprising turn from the opera music, the other night. “Good” fetishes, “bad” fetishes. Disturbing. I need a walk. And LOTS of air.
3:34pm. Back from walk. And it hit me.. being a student again. All the studiers, there in front of library, on lawn, talking with one another, either about subject matter, matter-related matter, or their own topics provoked. I want to be a student again. Really dive into research– SERIOUS research. This stroll may have caused a certain remapping of Life. But I need to sip this Diet Coke, think a bit.
Of course, Stanford pops into the writer’s head. What I’d want to teach, which authors I’d want to address, and why of course. What do I want to separate me from other authors? My studies, my standing as a professor, educator. Not my ties to wine’s world, or its ever-hilarious industry. So, even further motivated to close this semester with intense punctuations. Just wrote a couple notes for tonight’s meetings. Very much hoping I get a 1A section, and maybe a 5 (CritThink). But it’s totally away from my grips.
If I’m to get nothing, then my writing needs to sell. It has to. I can keep the material in circulation.. I never stop writing. I write, note, type every free second I have. Why am I not selling now? Maybe these classes, the extra currency stream they supply has me too comfortable. Sure that’s what it is. Whatever happens Monday at 5:50pm, when I call for classes, a direction will be lamented. Either I continue adjunct, or altogether halt.
Remember how excited I was my first day of grad school. How I couldn’t wait to be back in the classRoom, a student. Went by so fast, those less-than-2 years. Need to reconnect with tonight’s notes, materials, at 4:30p, 33 mins from now, but I just couldn’t resist reliving my most recent study experiences. Like the first group presentation I gave, in the Intro to Grad Study course, taught by Dr. Eve.. the first paper I read in that same class, on Emerson’s work– wait, there he is again. Why have Mr. E and I been meeting so much lately? Something’s being said. More time to think.
One problem I have with this present, in this adjunct office: 1) it’s shared, 2) it’s much too confining. Life is outside, as is material. So what in blazes is an ARTIST doing in here.
Blair, my winemaker friend at winery, told me it’s about time to sulfur and rack both my wines. I need to further reunite wine, Literature, as I set to do with the first blog. Tomorrow, writing notes, character notes, on every wine I pour.. from the stainless SB [both ’11 & ’12] to the NV Dessert Cuvée. Working at that winery’s FREE material, of inexhaustible rhythm. Need to capitalize.
I’m a student, of wine.. of winemaking. Why didn’t I see this? Slow synapses…
Blog, book.. wine, Literature. Consider this a brainstorm. Where do I go? Deeper. Till I can’t anymore dive. In academia, institutional academia and education, there’s no such depth to surroundings, I don’t feel. So, I take Self where heart, and better denotation, order.
If I don’t rack and sulfur tomorrow, I’ll at the very least taste both barrels.