Promised Self I’d go to verse, but I find Self on some kind of odd roll.  Just read posts from 1 year ago today, just before starting at winery.  Then a bit after I started.  Can’t believe how much I’ve written.  I wouldn’t say I’m impressed, just a bit daunted.  Okay, now to verse.  Jack, still playing, throwing whatever he can around floor.  He looks back to see if I saw.  He sees I’m writing, but doesn’t care.  He’s solving his own equations.

How is it I’ve been at winery for nearly a year?

Two useful thoughts thus far 2day:  introducing Self through work, to people never before met (1); your pieces serving as direct reflection of thought process, pace, type… (2)

1:15pm.  In adjunct office.  Grading all but done.  SO I have quite a bit of free time to write.  Need to capture, convey my current consciousness.  Have to say, I’ve been thinking about this realization all day.  Why did I have it now, though, at age thirty-bloody-four?  Doesn’t matter.  Tonight, working that event for St. Francis, so I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to write.  What am I talking about.. I should be home before 10a.  Never mind.

So from this sitting, here in office.. what do I want?  Was going to shoot for 3 standalones, but I see that as unrealistic.  1, more understandable.  Three-shot mocha, nearly gone.  Good, I don’t need anymore caffeine.  Turning on music, instrumentals.. left main CompBook at home, so I’ll use the one I had active during term.

Saw old, thin, probably barely ever read, mistreated poetry anthology in hallway, on table with other abandoned books.  My works will never see such fate, I’ll make sure of that.  Not saying I’m going to necessarily “market” mine better, but I’ll know where each copy’s going.  Where it will live, who will care for, read, remember, share it.

I refuse 2B just another writer.  And I can’t be.

No one thinks like ME.

1:22pm.  Leaving at 3, meaning I have over 90 mins, if I wanted, to write spoken word, poem, short prose piece.  Maybe I should shoot for 2 standalones finished.  Okay, 1 or 2.  Like this current instrumental.. Need computer on for thesaurus usage.. word blending, more unusual syntaxes, images.. anything that’ll separate me.

One poet I was watching recently, sees language as puzzle, he configures.  ME, equation to solve.  And there’s several ways, I’m seeing.  Manuscript Math.. yes.

Taking break from penned spoken word.  Frustrated finding rhymes, syllabic matches.  May stop at bookstore, for Faulkner collection book, a new one, for Fall semester.  Wait, why did I turn off the music?  Love being in this adjunct office, my studio, utterly unrushed.  Free.

Oh, now that I think, I should probably leave at 2:30p.  But if I want to hit bookstore, I should leave maybe at 2(?).  2:15.  Settled.

Dependency ending.  On paychecks.  Relying on Self, the writing  I produce.  Don’t want anymore allowance hooks in my Literarily Sovereign cheek.