Woke thinking about the semester and today’s lunch and where I should write and how this medicine is finally working.  I know I promised I’d write the Massamen novel by hand, or start this morning if I woke earlier enough, in that black journal but I was brought to the keyboard.  I moved Jackie into our bed I think near a halfhour ago.  And now I’m downstairs, thinking about lunch, and the semester–  How can I aggravate them, the admin and the department chair, by owning my assignments, and I mean really teaching independently while still staying in an obey of their precious course outline and work count?  Just started the 1A syllabus, not going over 1 page, 2sides, and all will be cut&paste.. my thoughts will be outside the syllabus.  This term will be different, only two classes, and each will be its own book; Composition, Critical Thinking & Lit.  Finally I get a 1B.  I remember when I called in to get my assignments and the full-timer I was speaking to, so authoritative and stern and coldly calculated like he was in a control tower directing jets.  I could hear another helping him, look at the availabilities, openings.  “Is this that hard for them?” I remember thinking.  Was quite happy when the call ended and I didn’t have to teach developmental, for the second semester straight.  6:11, hear Jack upstairs being silly, and I think ‘this is all for him’, all of it.  MY work, my writing, my struggle…