And on this 93rd day, an unusual one to be sure, I sit to coffee in the nook, not in class but having to leave for campus in 27 minutes exactly, “Launch at 730” I tell myself. Coffee ready and I have to walk over there, behind me and by fridge to retrieve but I don’t want to rise and ruin my run. Only bringing Comp Book as I said yesterday, and I’ll note everything, everything, and all things learned and other ideas the professors point out. I know people will notice me writing, and I hope they do! I hope they see me as one who not only teaches but does! Quiet in the condo now, with only the fridge and its hum, the sounds of the keys being committed to my vision, image and role, and the table rocking so slightly I almost have to stop typing to hear it, but then it doesn’t move, then no sound, it’s playing with me, obviously.
Coffee in possession and I sit thinking about how awful or awesome the coffee there at the meeting will be. Could be splendid. Could be shit. I notice myself fall into typo after typo this morning typing, how did Kerouac do it on an Underwood? Can’t think about that now and it’s not my bloody fault I have a laptop. The times.. the technology.. I didn’t decide it! And I use it how I want! In fact my poetess friend, Amber (whose word I still have to post to bottledaux) only writes on laptop, so it’s instantaneous.. and my dear friend Lila, refuses nearly to transfer her scribblings to laptop, as it’s “too much of a pain” as she once told me, basically then, for her, bringing nothing to fruition, and that’s a shame. So I’m here in nook, typing, Comp Book right, little pages left.. ready for day, to write everything, everything.. see who shows, try to find Michael right away.. and I have a thought for the Massamen novel– you know what, maybe I should bring my bag but only have the journals in them– no, bring Comp, then Massamen journal atop.. done. And his story, Mass’, starts where I did on the 28th, Jan, being let go to start new, and finally be in the position to fight the Adjunct War. And maybe “war” is too barbed a term for some but to us, my character and I and anyone who’s ever been an adjunct, it’s too light, perhaps. Either way, we’re both at work. And I’m xeriscaping my thoughts and writings, my novel coming, and I need give Self a timeline like with this project.. just looked at clock after taking call from Alice wishing me a well morning.. 7:15, the clock catches me but I’m grumbling in commitment to reach the bottom of the page, and to think of anything I forgot to mention yesterday in entry– OH! The skirmish and bad blood catalyzed by one of the tasting rooms in the Kenwood shopping center. Even slighting my friend Jeff, he’s the one who disclosed the whole story to me, day before yesterday, and again to Dwight and I yesterday with some added specifics. War in the wine world, and how some people are so oblivious to courtesies common and just general neighborlyisms. And then it starts; the stares, the snubbing, the rumors, the shootouts if any, and just that feeling that no one cites or points out but you know something’s off. And that happens on highway 12! It’s hard to believe! A place where much of the world frequents in their pursuit of wine and wineries and vineyards, to take pictures and experience what we all, or many of us, take for granted and just shine on, there can be conflict, foul attitude, negativity to this degree.
Battery low. See what I mean? Bloody tech.. anyway, I should prep myself for leave, and I’m just taking the Comp Book I decided. One project at a time, one binding at a time. Slow, like I tell Jackie when he eats; “Jackie, remember, we eat slooooooooooooow…” Same principle with writing, just not too slow, otherwise the project never finishes.