Pose Coincidental

9:08am.  Getting in shower soon.  Just wanted it noted that I was very much in accordance with last night’s stated plan of getting to Petaluma obnoxiously early.  Much I’m tempted to sit here with mocha, write to outside fog…

4:24pm.  Timed Self this morning, for grading the 13 papers.  Have, or had, 17:44 left on 1:30:00 timer, or countdown.  Using that surplus for this sitting.  Wrote Poe lecture, the first one, and typed it for class.  Found one typo.  Too late to fix now.  I never realized how playful he was with form, and language.  Well, maybe I was, but I never fully valued what he did, and how often, in such abbreviated Poetic works.

Having a 2shot mocha from caf’.  Need it.  Feel Self fading from this day.  I’ll finish the 500-word piece, short story, I last night started, tonight, while enjoying the remainder of that ’10 Cab.

Running from work, tomorrow.  Lawndale.  Because of how short the days are becoming, tomorrow’s sure to be, I’ll be racing the sun.  Hopefully it won’t be too busy.  And speaking of work, just received an email: next month’s schedule, and notice that we may be opening later, 11.. possibly 11:30am, as we enter the slow season.  That will only take money from my pocket.  I HAVE to finish the 41pg project, begin selling it.  Can’t allow Self to be hesitant, excessively editorial.  Just write, read once or twice, correct, release.  My system has to be that swift.  Everything in best interest for company…  But us?  No worry, I can take care of mySelf.  My writing will take care of me.

Feel great, thanks to 2shots.  Already 3 students not showing to 1A section.  More than frustrated with student attendance, especially with the 1A group.  Don’t get frazzled, Mike.  Or frustrated.  Just work with who’s there.

10:38 left on timer.  What else to report…  This union between my writings, the teaching.. the lecturing, being given a soldier’s shove this evening, with this first Poe Lecture.  And yes, it is a LECTURE.  Simply titled, “Poe.” May show a clip at the beginning of class, see if anything that’s said was unearthed during their initial authorial research.

Find mySelf stuck, but then I hear a clip of something, in that auditorium room, on the other side of this door, here in office, being played.  Sign on door, facing me, in handwritten light red marker, reading: “Do Not Block This Door!” It’s been quiet, the other side, that huge room, all semester.  Want to listen to what’s playing, see if I can put some pieces together, whatever there is to assemble.  But I grow bored quick.  Or maybe it’s the caffeine going to my brain, then to aorta, then to all veins, back to brain, into heart, to hands [why I’m typing so tasmanian-ly.].

Another sip.. no, I should wait.  OR not.

Less than 20 seconds.. just go to class.  This reminds me of when I was in college.. the delaying…  (4:41pm)

8:12pm.  1st Poe lecture went alright.  Well, B-, I’d self-eval’.  In kitchen nook, sipping another of Sam’s beers.  Think this may be the same type, but the character’s more coherent, in this bottle.  More carbonation, more subdued herbaceous quality, and just more creative palate approach.

Next lecture.. direct students to specific lines.  I did that tonight, but only with general thematic reference, address.  Next session, go line by line, with intent behind every mention.  And I’m holding with my address of Beauty as a dominant atmosphere, not theme, to his work.

Want to grade two of the papers that came in tonight, from the 1A section [‘Glass Castle’ paper].  Get ahead of my own game.  More importantly, get ahead of the fiery students.

9:32pm.  Rest of ’10 Cab, waiting.  Me, in reflection.. Poe intersection.  Decided against grading tonight.  I deserve a moment, collection of, to Self.  Especially after getting to Petaluma as early as I did to grade.

Looking over Poe notes, his background, I can’t help but feel sorry for his early years, and how he struggled, starved as an Artist.  I refuse to do so, ever.  I’ll have a “real job,” temporarily.. being responsible, using my shifts as material.  But I’ll always have income coming in.  I’m paid tonight, actually.  At midnight.  And I believe there’s to be some bonus blended into my check.  But that won’t be enough, if they start shortening shifts.  I need to start peddling pages.

Tomorrow, running Lawndale.  And I have to make record time, with day’s brevity, fear of its own hours– how quickly that cowardly sun retreats–  Have to note:  Session stopped for a minute there, from a light bloody nose.  Can’t remember the last time I had one of those.  Remember I had them often, when living on Bayview Drive, San Carlos.  Didn’t last very long.  But, how odd that was.

Anyway, my run tomorrow.. have to run as I never had.  Which will be difficult, as I haven’t run in a while.  I’ll begin slow, increase as I go.  And those hills, taken with temperament, collect Self on downhills, straightaways.  Have to return to running, seriously.  Which means somehow running after work.  Or before.  But waking at ungodly hours puts unusual pain on my person.  And I need to make Self do so, as I know the writing will benefit.  But the simple act of waking at 4am, or 5, muffles brain before I even attempt; it axes the ambition before liftoff.

Poe.  What he wanted, he really never reached.  So sad, I acknowledge, as a fellow writer.  But if I don’t mySelf see that, I only see Beauty in what he created; a new world, a new genre; he, AS the genre.

The story I began last night, to be revisited tomorrow eve, after run.  See if that puts a different direction into its respective directive.  Now, a glass.  That Cab.  Only thanks.

Have to bring work to work with me, tomorrow.  Papers, I mean.  Grading.  And the Poe book.  Remember, line by line…  Especially with “The City in the Sea.” Death.. have the students consider deaths from more angles than what’s simple, or obvious.  And, PLEASE, don’t forget a piece from your book, Mike-y…

First sip from last night’s ’10 Cabernet.. much more open to conversation, the deep purple puddle–  But all I can think about is Poe, my ‘main event’ for the semester. Just heard my little Artist upstairs.  He probably dreams of his days: playing at daycare, seeing his father or mother coming to pick him up.  Or, he just subconsciously envisages new movements, sprints– as he did this morning, away from me as I opened the car door.  […]  Tomorrow, printing ONE standalone, taking it to work with me for proofing.  Getting past this bloody blog.  Outgrowing it, frankly.  Another glass?  Yes, please.  Hoping for more fog tomorrow, when I drive him to Lisa’s.  Visuals, crave.