And what to do but to prep for the last early wakeup, at least for a 7AM 1A, that I’ll ever again hold or have to meet. Stressed again today about money and the teaching assignments but I put my mind in that state, in that box, “Only look for two,” I tell and remind myself. After class, run, the write, then get stuff done around this new house then meet Dad either here or at his house, can’t remember. No wine tonight, a break so the early rise won’t affect me even microscopically. As well tomorrow, post the pieces selected to blog….. Or don’t… Hmmm…….. Print them. But that’s going to cost the writer I can’t, what I’ll do is keep better inventory of what I post so I can repost and market my writings more influentially and affirmatively, effectively. So no printing, not for any near time, anyway. Wish I could, but no.. and I need to write more of those pages for my own joy, as JK ordered.
Painting the cupboard in the condo’s kitchen with Katie, she moving the brush with such precision and interest and myself as well more into the work than I thought I’d be, pretending I was a painter, that my grandfather’s nuclei were mine, that I could create with color, something visual and tangible, something to sell. But no, Mike Madigan’s only a writer– and professor. And on such, I need some prompt for tomorrow, even though technically I’m only picking up their final submissions. But I want to leave them with SOME thoughts, some walk-away-with’s, something. I don’t want to dismiss tomorrow, just throw it away. So… a word, a quote, a 15-minute writing, then adjourn.
Looking forward to my morning run, but a bit terrified– or not ‘terrified’ but nervous. The knee, left, what does it want to do? How will it treat me? Just want between 3 & 5 miles, and that’s all. If I make it to 2.5, no pain, I’ll turn right around. Then when home, 50 pushups. Want to do 100/day, everyday for the rest of my life.. my journey to total Wellness starts tomorrow whether I complete my run or not. I don’t consider myself a “lifestyle blogger”, or even a ‘wellness blogger’, but both my wellness and pursuit of and the lifestyle that precipitates will be a more emphasized synthesis of my writings, my work logs if you will.
Getting tired, should take an Aleve, start my regiment to battle this knee matter… There, started, this shows I’m serious about my morrow’s run, and I took the pill with some of Jackie’s healthy gummy fruit snacks.. a positive as I was tempted to have another of those cinnamon mini-rolls I had this A.M. with my coffee. My pride is a bit bizarre and immature I guess, but I thought I should note it, as it is a technical step towards this Wellness, my new lifestyle, and the mental will as well be addressed and included. How, I’ll see, but always focusing on the Literary and written and story intuitiveness of things, people and object, scenes. On my run tomorrow morning, whether I finish or not, I will think about where I am in life, tomorrow just ten days from my 36th. Only two classes, and you’ll keep getting two, far as I know, so that’s secure, and the wine possibilities will only increase and surround me further– I enjoy and embrace the reaction from visitors with which I build a short communication, when I tell them teach and work in wine’s encasing.. “Wow that’s cool!” Or, “So you have a pretty fun work life,” someone recently told me. The teaching facet won’t build, but the wine and writing will, then the lecturing opportunities charge at me, from Stanford and Yale, Harvard, Colombia, and who knows where else; on Literature, the Beats, Writing, Theory, Wine, Writing about Wine Creatively.. I know what to do tomorrow, ask the students to ask themselves what is they truly want, and maybe one day, maybe, they’ll think of old Mike Madigan… They’ll think of Mike. Madigan. Or maybe they won’t. I can’t think about it. I can only teach. Or try. I won’t let worry sewer my thinking and my pursuit of Wellness. In twelve hours, I’ll be done with my run attempt. I don’t want it just an attempt. I want to run. So why don’t I.
And now that I’m here in the adjunct office, trying desperately to wake up with this coffee I feel renewed knowing that the term’s over. AND, that I only need these two classes here at SRJC.. I’ve thought this thought before but never with this calmness, never with this sight and scope, a common understanding if you will. Stressing out over more classes is just what gives ‘They’ the edge over us and that power that I always cite. But no more.. when home, after run, I’m going to look into selling wine through my bottledaux blog and by other means.. the moving of bottles will get me closer to wine and closer to the collective story of wine and with this writer, the writing, writing while sipping wine which I plan to do tonight, to possibly one of the Arista Pinots I took home from the event. Already gifted one to Mom and Dad (the RRV).
Appeared my laptop too was tiring. So now plugged in. Ugh.. don’t know if I’ve been this tired all semester. Why today? Why now, right now, just bloody before I retrieve final submissions. Still have to plan, find the quote and word, but I know what they’ll write, the last page in their semester’s story. So this is mine, then, this sitting in this adjunct office with my coffee and listening to the cleaning crew, a very nice group of Eritrean men that I see everymorning, then the other adjunct on the opposite side of wall left: cough, sneeze, sniffle, noseblow, cough….. I’m starting to wake, alongside the laptop.. coffee and composition and my juxtaposition of philosophies therein, of. My lesson plan for morning and plan for day and how to get even further into stories, and not just of wine and Arista but everything and everyone around me. A second winemaker with whom I’m trying to arrange an interview/meeting as I did with Michael, not showing promptness or respect to my curiosity, which irks me as Michael Browne, far more known and noted than either of the other two, was more than prompt, more than respectful, getting back to me in under an hour to an email I sent form the Arista TR. I don’t get some people in the wine industry and its world, with their inwardly endowed heliocentricity, as I told my sister last night, or early evening as we smattered gently and her artfully the white coat to the cupboards in the kitchen. She said something like “Yeah, well that’s just the wine industry, you know…” And this is Katie, a professional winemaker at one of the most known producers in Napa or Sonoma. But I onward push and into the stories like it’s a huge Dante page and I’m not fazed or even touched by the orange and red blazing blaze.
6:19. I’ll start planning in 10. So.. the term’s end, finally, today’s a final that I won’t be giving, as I don’t believe in them and why should I? ‘Cause They tell me to? Not so, no go; me fast, and the rest of these suits so slow. I’m here for the students, not to ensure or uphold or support policy. I know what benefits the students, I’ve been teaching now for over 9 years, and if any of Them, the ‘They’, doubt me, then I go off an’ lecture independently, which I’m aiming to do anyway so… Topic next: coffee, composition, my lunch with Dwight today at Palooza. Been months. Huh… I remember my sessions in the loft, how I looked forward to them, getting away from K—- and relaxing with my own thoughts, producing cascading pages and reactions to what’s around me, what happening that day, my office which Jeff the owner supported. Me, the writer, just needing an ‘away’. Feel like that winery never happened, almost, like I never had to deal with their ideological filth and bullying, and now I see working at Arista that THAT place had nothing to do with wine, AT ALL. Or at least not my thought expectations– it’s a glorified supermarket, just a retail parloring whorehouse where wine is sold. There is no emphasis on growth, wine education, nothing, nothing like at Arista– We never did the blind tastings that we do with Mark and Ben.. no eagerness, no passion, no shared vision. Everything at that Kenwood Reich tower was meetings and meetings and closed doors and demonstrative communication aversion, and fear. Fear, which just before the year’s turn, I decided not to buy into. They didn’t like that, they didn’t appreciate that I valued my own thoughts and identity and formed a relationship with their wines and wine intrinsically that had nothing to do with them. I don’t know, maybe I hurt them somehow, maybe they felt left out. Me, victory, too bad.
I stretch, and realize that this day is for me and the writing, my story and my consanguinity with wine, wines. So much to look forward to with the condo near its leave from our lives and the establishment of the Autumn Walk Empire… And not that I’m looking to expand but– Well, yes I am! Both my writing and my ideas and my family by one and my collective and creative character; maybe sooner than I think buy a farm or some property somewhere in Oregon, maybe Sisters.. of how prodigious and promised that is! A 20-something acre farm, where I go out to the barn to write, to the upper level (loft new), look down at my children playing with the goats or dogs, and simply enjoy, live and write what I see, all from family– we’d go back to the Autumn Walk base in about two weeks, flying out of Redmond Airport as I used to when I was younger, visiting Steve & Linda. Been thinking a lot about them lately, how I miss them and how I’d just relish writing from that deck, at their house in the middle of truly nowhere looking up at the Sisters Mountains and listening to wind rush through those rock formations, tree, and through the innate forest channels.
6:33.. three past deadline.. but so what.. no I shouldn’t like that.. pretend this is the first day of the semester. No, don’t stress yourself that way, just start noting.. okay word for day..
Done. Ready. And I feel tired again. Goddamnit. Thinking of Arista and the porch front and the view and the coupe times I escaped outside yesterday for some air. And that air, feeing, instructional, and encouraging. And how I react to wine, follow through with that, of course I say to myself why wouldn’t I, the whole vinoLit ideology and practice.. whatif I tire of it again, as I did a couple years ago? I won’t. I can’t, not with all I have at stake and with the rise of the Autumn Walk Empire I’m leading.. one of Art, Zen, Wellness, Writing and poetry and fiction and narrative….. My heart and what’s in it, those iron strings Emersonian ordering me to trust myself. And I will. I finally do. Trying to reach the bottom of this page and I hope I will just focus on the semester and the 1A lecture I’m about to give, the last of the 1A series and what’s ahead for me today: the run, the lunch with Dwight, the publishing of the standalone pieces I’ve typed over the last couple days (and written! That hair salon sketch…). All Zen and Well about me this morning, finally, now that I’m awake and sightly, phantasm in my prose and notings and with my ecumenical edge, changing my atmosphere and cosmology immediately.. thought thought thoughts! As Dad has always encouraged of me.. these Chairs and Deans and Trustee stormtroopers have no echo in my halls, nothing.. I only see stories and more writing and more wines to sip and reflect, and this vintage make! Oh how it feels to finally be so alive, just before 36, and so what, “36”… Who says I have to even mind that number or any associated notion? What if I just enjoy the celebratory aspect, the actual ‘birth day’?