Nook. Home. With mocha.

Had lunch, got quick haircut or trim, dropped off a juice at Alice’s school as she’s still a bit under weather and now I’m here, writing, re-typing what I wrote in Comp Book on campus. Wrote a couple pages of notes for Eng 1B (above, in Comp, I wrote “Eng 5”, obvious error and evidence of caffeine stall), but I need to look them over and decide how I want them arranged. 3:11 now, and I’m not sure I’ll get a run in, maybe I won’t, and so I’ll run tomorrow after meeting Cathy in SF, at Stonestown Mall to hand off the little Beat for the weekend, so Alice and I can do something Valentine-related. I’m tired and would love a nap but the caffeine from the couple sips I’ve already taken has me tossed into the hazy outside, even though I’m inside, in the kitchen, on this crowded table trying to shake my mood– and I’m not in a mood like you’d think, I’m just monotone, stale, stiff, stoic and bleh.. the complete opposite of how I felt walking to the theatre with Craig, listening to the lady speak and then soonafter Michael.
Wrote a poem in the theatre, before the lady started speaking.. and now I just basque in the quiet. Tempted to take a shower to wake me up.. sounds like an idea, but not one that truly charges me or gives me some compelling shove. I should take a break.. yes, think.. about the move next.. throw away the old printer that’s just sitting on my chair upstairs.. yes, do that.
Okay, done.. now what. Have to stay moving and busy and right now I realize that all I’m doing is cataloguing my restlessness, and me being the house and the caffeine truly taking effect. Outside, clouds, too cool for a run but I can’t use that as excuse as I’m set to be on the tread, my mill if you will– bug walking across Comp Book page, just under poem I wrote. I blow hard, it flies away, then back, again, not back. Good. I’m going mad for some reason and I blame all the inspiration from today and that’s not a negative I just don’t know how to effectively manage it now, so I just basque– listening to Michael talk I realize I want my PhD, I want to study, and everything that I write will be academic in flavor, part of my Wellness as an adjunct. Yes, there is a Was as I’ll state in the Massamen novel, but more than just that, more than just what all we adjuncts complain about and continually voice in our griping circles.. there’s Life, more Life than death and disappointment. These sentences are hardly skookum, but they’re me, speaking for me, now, in this Now.
Have to do MY homework, find 4 poems from Plath to address Tuesday with 1B and 1A, well as 4 from Ms. Dickinson! Where is that collection I had from her? Somehere upstairs– and that little bug or fly, looks more like an any with wings, back. This time, right on top of the poem, above the words ‘the goal is’. Huh.. does it have a question?