He thought of calling in sick the next day, so he could catch up on grading.  And why not, he could use the day, the time, the space, the allowance to actually live, breathe, be, do, move.  He sat in his office, the adjunct box they all shared, all the freeway flying educators.  And that wass that.  Still and working, planning the lesson, he never had time, that’s what it was: TIME.  The bully, and he did all he could to be prepared– if he did go in the next day then he’d bring a stack of papers with him, one towering and useful.  He’d put them in his bag, keep the bag in that short narrow closet where all the other employees kept their keys, snacks, purses, jackets and what.  He’d go back there intermittently to grade, get caught up.  He’d do it between customers, between pours.  That’s what he had to do at this point; steal time, and lots, lots.  He’d go back out to his car, grab a little stack, grade before class.  He had to have it done by Monday, the entire tower.  More coffee, more.  That’s would keep the train on track, down to its last little sector on speedometer.

Writing in third, more interesting.  I know, I’ve tried it before and now I’m more a narrating knower, but that’s what I was compelled to put onto this screen.  I AM going out to the car in a bit and I WILL grade, I need it all done by Monday– still that’s the one thing slowing me as a professor: assessment, grading, planning.  It stops today.  Right now.  And I won’t have today be a binary to Monday.  Won’t happen in my arena.  8:46.. I’ll go back to car, or I would, but Time’s fading, running from me as it always does.  And this novel, or the rough draft is due in FIVE days.  And the race is Sunday– Time attacking, can you see it?  Injecting this paranoia and harmful awareness upon.  So.. coffee– no, just write, stay where you are, in the chair.