On a ten minute timed write, like the students.  Coffee, left.  Not ready for day.  Would rather read over the three Poe stories I assigned the 1A section: Eleonora, Mask of the Red Death, and Pit/Pendulum.  Really enjoying Poe’s use of psyche, mentality of narrator, how that guides the reader, whether reliably or ‘un’, through his tales.  Already setting Self in position to leave right from Lisa’s house, Tuesday.  If I can get the little Artist there as early as I have been lately, like 8:15am, then I could be on PC safely before 9.  Then, I have two solid hours of planning, remaining grading, I could do.  And more than likely I wouldn’t need all that time to prep, so the rest would be to write.  Time, now, from this chair, this finally-quiet condo: 8:41am.  A fly, zooming past my screen, attaching itself to one of the thin laces stringing the blinds together.  He’s upside down, from what I can see.  What is he thinking?  What’s his task list this morning, today?  Believe I’m on the mountain, as I think I said in last night’s night– or wrote.  Good.  Would love to scribble just a couple notes up there, for Tuesday’s Poe lecture.  A three-story lecture [pun unintended, but I’ll use it].  Aside from considering which one is more “Poe,” I’ll invite students to find where Poe enters our minds, our psyches; where he aggressively engages the reader.  Just over two minutes.. already?  Now I do know how the students feel.  Tuesday will be the 19th.  How is time rushing by?  Why doesn’t anyone stop it?  Just under a minute and 30 secs…  Just what I tell students not to do, watch the bloody clock.  Going to need a mocha, probably 4shots.  The Cabernet’s ring can still be heard.  Outside, cold.  But the kind cold, the writer’s morning cold.  Just what promises to give way to words.  (11/16/13)