Didn’t think I’d get past the day’s thousand, but I did.  Tells me something.  What I’m not entirely sure.  More evidence of readership, to this “blog”.  Which makes me happy, obviously.  Just finished beer.  So I’m due for a night’s cap.  It’s only 7:49p.  Odd.  If I went to bed now, just think how early I’d wake, for session, to remove 1,000 words for daily docket.

I won’t lie, I need a glass of wine, or something, and some Art.  A documentary on Poe, Plath, Hemingway, Faulkner, Capote.. something, someone.  Noise bothers me.  Especially lately.  Would have some decaf, but there’s none here, as there is in the Yulupa castle.

11% left in this thing’s life.  Have to plug it in.  Life support.  Hate that I have to do that.  Need to change positions, adjust my Literary rant.  That, and I’m down to 7%…

Now, plugged in.  Poe, what he intended for his characters, swirling through my deliberative boards.  What else will generate readers’ positioning more than the sinister– or, the justified?  I won’t deny what I feel towards the wine world, but I also, at the same second, thank it for everything it’s done for me, my writing.

Just opened my last Ale.  Have to slow down, as it all me catches.

Pretending like I’m having a beer with Mr. Poe.  We’d talk about everything from submission guidelines to self-publishing, to poetic principles, then to imagery, to certain gothic concepts.  And what is ‘the gothic’, as my grad school professor used to say.  She always used to call out, “The Gothic!” What is it?  I still ask to, till now…

8:16PM.  Nagging mySelf to keep with this thousand word continuance.  And I think of Poe, what he’d think of my content in this long writing wallop.  Still can’t believe the weather today.  How warm it was.. the California xmas.  This next semester, I’ll combat everything that’s expected, all the aligned.  I’ll support my students, any ways that I can conjure.

And how has the writer changed?  I’ve become more…  committed.  For my students.  Purge yourSelf to page.  I’ll never b stuck, as I have my students to motivate me.  They are my material.  You may think I’m crazy confessing such here, but I’m not.  I should be admired, copied even, as an educator.. as I commit to the young minds in their seats, listening to my words.  I’m humbled.

I skip to any skirmish for the student attending my class.  Any curriculum interfering with my lectures, my students passion for learning, or even simple aim to earn credit, will be instantly silenced by an instructor like me.  In ’14, I’m different.  Militant–  No.  Just intensely committed.

The “superiors”, if you could call them that.. think–no, KNOW–they have everything calculated, reduced to formula.  Are they interested in student experience, or funding?  That’s what I have to ask.  And I am.  Right now.

I find mySelf stalled.  Re-reading Hemingway, his thoughts on observation.. Life, Death.  What better affirms Life than Death.  What does Death do for this writer?  It’s lifted me, sent me to apexes, ones new, renewing.  If former students this skim, or even closely read, know that new seed indeed stream in twos, threes.

(12/25/13)