a record: stamp 1

And let myself be driven mad, MAD by the words and this sitting.  On couch, no music yet but I will soon be submerged in jazz and thought, and thoughts of next week with the students and the lectures.. should probably get the Comp Book, but I just sat down.  No RRV mission and I’m glad– I want to be locked in here, in this house, and I want to be driven to hilarity by the words and the Story itself, me an adjunct.  I do plan on writing letters, later, but consider this the introduction to my immersion, to my day, my composition.. the first stamp.

Mocha left (I know I should cut down on those, yes, but today’s one of those gem days, one of those electric transitions in a writer’s life).  Jazz–  no rehearsing and no diving into the thesaurus, only what I have now, here, in my head holstered.  Do feel a bit tired but I’m ignoring it, and I don’t know why as I slept more than I needed to, or perhaps the right amount as I am sick.  Time 9:31 and I think of money and what to do with the day, and the vision, of me as a paid writer, not having to tinker with these goddamn tasting rooms and the wine industry and people telling me ‘hey, something just opened up, why don’t you contact soandso’…  No, I’m writing today and can’t wait to share this energy with the students.  Have a meeting on Thursday with one of the 1A seats, ‘A’ I’ll call her, to go over her first submission (Kerouac paper) and see what she can adjust, even though she did log 45 of 50.  She’s a former lawyer and I suspect has the perfectionist strand about her centrality, at the foundation of her character.

If I were at the estate, I’d already be in the tasting room, after clocking in by putting my finger on that devilish scanner– not thinking of them, today I’m free, an adjunct yes but as ‘I’ want to be.  The IT of it all.  Thought about planning the next meetings with the students, but I’m only going to make notes, just small jots so that I can know where I’m going and how to keep them guessing, ‘what will he say next.. what will we learn next about writing and reading a text like this [Hemingway], and what is theory?’ I do want to touch on Deconstruction a bit, when we come back; have them see the value in dividing a text, separating its parts and seeing certain truths and information about the author delivered.  I won’t be seen ever as a farceur, especially by the students.  TRUTH, the valued direction and principle.  This is not valued in the wine industry, obviously– or I should say by most houses (it is at Arista, which is why I’m there and speak so often and with such countenance).

Don’t stop typing, I tell myself like I alwys do but today, honestly, I’m reaching for true Creative and written, and MUSICAL, madness.. the adjunct making it his own, not begging for assignments or looking for jobs on the side to uphold his crumbling cliff of a check.  No.. I’m making it my own.. I’m the vocal adjunct.  I’m the adjunct which is not simply part of something larger…  I AM(!!!) something larger.  Larger than Them, larger than any ‘Them’.  Oh look at me fly with my types here on the couch with my mocha.. can’t get up even thought I want to a bit to stretch.. should write the students in a bit, just check in with them and say something like ‘I’ll see you in a week’ and ‘please be ready for an energized and enriching session on Tuesday the 24th’…  Something like that.  And brief!  And put a prompt on the blog for them.. let them know you’re there, always there for Them (a ‘Them’ much different than the other ‘Them’ types.. again, Deconstruction, knowing what is by way of intimacy with what isn’t..).

Thinking of Life, now.. and how it’s not just fragile, but altogether exposed, to threats visible and not, how is that fair well it’s not it’s just something the adjunct has to live with and can only brawl through words, become pugilistic within few pulses.  No remorse, no discomfort in who I am, nearly 36 and with a reflection that I see and don’t; I just know it’s there.  Not so much work as it is lovely, or loving labor– cliché, yes, but know where I am.. this, the writing, work, with aims of sustainability, and traveling to talk about writing, not like I’m an “expert” or sage, but sharing ideas as I do in the classroom– and it shouldn’t be seen as drudgery, ever, but a fruitful functioning, as a writer, have your words speak, so don’t YOU speak.  Just write…

Stopping for a second, realizing it’s St. Patrick’s Day.  And of course I have to be sick, so no beer for me.  Shit.. need to do something while imprisoned here.. already going mad.. should read.. after I write or write then read?  Who knows, this mocha’s bollixing.. but encouraging, I don’t know what it is, but I need a book next to me.. someone.. Jack?  Ernest?  Sylvia?  Leo?  Fyodor?  Or Mr. Faulkner?  Perplexing placement, this morning, and not even 10 (well, 3 minutes away).

May get Jack early, which means I have less time to write and find a useful madness.. so, next topic: Alaska.. hiking and exploring like those students from Stanford.  I’d have only a pen, paper, a Comp Book to write what I see and be weary of wildlife but so eager to see some, any, even what’s coined menacing.

Adjunct.. you adjunct…..  That’s just what many full-timers say when we voice grievance, that’s why I approach our place, the adjunct space, a different way.  I won’t empower them any more than they already’ve been–  And if any have remarks about my writing or my style or my sentence arrangement, let them judge, ‘cause at that point I’ll be on the Road, unable to hear them.