from today’s 3…

…but I can’t stop today not with all that I’ve promised myself and thereby extendedly to my family, everything for my family and little Kerouac and our house and my office and all the stories out there on the Road.  Weather was so elevated when the term began, smoldering and miserable and the days just wouldn’t end.  Now they have, another reminder from my friend, Time.  And the student drops off his essay, 1:31.. I’ll wait till 1:45 then head to the fourth floor.  Thirsty, need something cold, I’m coffee’d out, no more, I won’t let myself have more.  A student, me, today, I need start with something singular, like the day itself, the weather, the rain, where I am [Santa Rosa Junior College], what I want, what I don’t want, what I have, what I’ll shed…

The run I still feel, but now more relaxed than I was when I got here, to campus.  On that 4th floor, I’ll ‘figure everything out’ as they say.  Who says that?…  Lot of people, I don’t know.  But singularity’s the key.. small pieces, getting “big” from that.  Having the small pieces perform a rotund function.  whoso issue cued, ready to edit.. and the odd penny project, right behind it.. about half its length I’m going to project.. and I have to budget both.  Have $300 set aside, whoso gets $100, and  ‘op’ will be allocated $50.  Small dollar amounts, huge musical, orchestra-prone intentions!  Grand visions and images ahead, just watch!  Like City Lights Books!  Oh just watch me and what I do and how I disregard the Man and everything he that devil wants for me!  Getting distracted looking at time and checking email, but no, not in the library.. presently 1:41 and I’ve waited long enough.  And I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, like Mom says.  And Dad always tells me to stand my ground and to think for myself, so why am I doubting myself so much at this term’s end?  Deciding to wait till 2PM, to know I gave them an extra opportunity to turn in their final piece.  I see now the rain has for sure stopped, as has the caffeine’s effect on the writer.  See students walk by and walk down the stairs, fresh out of a final I’m sure, they gossip and complain and debrief.  I barely remember what that was like.  I’ve traveled so far past it and have aged, forgotten a bit.  But I can recapture and that’s much of what I’m trying to do on the 4th floor, once I get there.

1:48, not sure anyone else is coming, and I can think of more than a few I didn’t see come in, leave their paper.  I’ll never get it.  Why?  Why even go to college?  Why try?  OR why NOT try?  Tomorrow at the bloody winery’s going to be hell in its slowness I’m sure.  Ugh.. need electricity and activity and only the self-publishing can give that to me– I know, why not submit like you said you would?  I will, but I want this to happen first.

In five minutes, I leave.  I shouldn’t have to wait here as I am but I am.  whoso calls, as does my office, my thoughts, certain singularities and focuses that could, or would, WILL, give way to a number of pieces, the beautifully haphazard, the torrentially honest and explosive, who knows where it’ll take me.. oh, I do, and that’s all I can do now is be confident and assured, self-assured that I’m doing what I should.  Look at this room, empty, the semester’s over and the students have left and gone about ways respective either to their next final or to go home and rush-write another paper and turn it in, thanking the professor profusely as they did here only minutes ago with me and the circle and cycle is recycled, redone and refurbished, redone bullshit.  That’s how I see it…