After a day-long battle with my own mood, I’m in the adjunct cell–  But I want this session to have a new redefining tone, term, intensity to it.  So I put on some jazz, what I see myself listening to and enjoying to an abnormally loaded glass of red, some blend, I don’t know.  She would, and she’d care, Crystal, but I couldn’t care less.  It’s wine.  And it’d be for me, right then.  Textbooks ordered for SRJC and I’m off.  Meeting at SSU yielded nothing, not a thing.  Again, not caring.  I’m writing, sipping a Coke.. too sweet but it’ll do.  There’s too much going on, simply, now I feel.  I need to keep contacting people, and I really just want simplicity, what any real writer wants.  Finishing up an 800-word piece tonight and sending it off.  And the blog, being killed by year’s end, I think.  I swear to you, I’m full of anxiety, indecision and insecurity today.  Must be something in the air.  Or something in me.  I’m off, and don’t know why.  So I recenter, minimize.  Only writing in this one spot.  One.  Spot…  ONE.  Then  I move forward.  3:49PM, think I got here too early.  So I can only talk about all the quiet in this room, this “office” if you could call it that.  No.  I don’t.  It’s a cell, as always I write.  A cell for imprisoning release, how the paradox shines in my mood right now, opposed to earlier.  So much time to write that I can ONLY write.  Think of what song I want to sing this semester.  May have to drive to Mendocino tomorrow– I mean the next day, Wednesday, get my books “approved”.  APPROVED.  I won’t let it bother me.  The song in my current arrangement won’t let my mood anymore sour.  No.  I think of Santa Barbara, our room, the walk on the beach just below the hotel the other morning, after our 5-miler, looking at the waves and the bird that flew or glided, and glided, just above the slightly sharp wave heights, which weren’t that elevated, not that morning.  The next morning though, the sea seemed agitated.  Probably ‘cause I was just staring like a goof, not having any serious or meaningful thought in response to it, accomplishing no real mental objective, not having one either– just walking, looking, thinking like everyone else does “I wish I lived by the ocean”.  Wow, how important.– forcing myself not to go back to the place I was earlier, stressed and virulent.  My laptop dying.. this is what I mean, I complicate with these devices, just why I hate social media, the internet, this goddamn laptop.  Why doesn’t anyone read anymore, and I don’t mean on tablet.  I mean real books, pages you have to turn, a manuscript you have to position either on a table or your lap to journey through.  Two hours and two minutes to class.  And I’m here with a dying device, and thinning patient, mental might.  Coke, gone.  Need a glass of Cab, or the Petite Sirah I sipped in the hotel room the first night, with the motley crowd, my cousin’s crew, next door, which I heard had beer in the bathtub– useful detail, kind of.  Even that was preferable to this adjunct cell.  I swear, they punish us as adjuncts, make us fetch, have us ‘fill squares’ as Dad says.  I think I’m becoming fed up with that as well, so I’ll finish the 800-word piece tonight and send it off, and join Amber in publication, on page, and eventually on some best seller list–  Lights just went off, I was too still.. like the other day, Thursday, when campus power went kaput.