A Long Lat

Having trouble waking so I’m literally using my journal and this medium-sized coffee (med roast) to wake the writer.  Blueberry scone to pair.  Not in the mood for class, or to do anything productive if you must know.  Slept in this morning, till about 7:20-something, started everything late, and in an odd key, for everything.  And keeping with such oddity, I come to campus to find someone in the adjunct cell.  Not sure who as I didn’t open the door, but there’s someone in there.  So I’m in here, in the conference room.  A couple deep sips from the roast and I’m equalized, certainly in better momentum than when I arrived.  And this is just what I hate about not having my own office, all this hassle and the potential that with a shared office someone might be in there, which to my lucky leaps there is.  4:31, just under 90 minutes till class.  not much to prep for as there’s a drafting session/workshop for the final paper.  Then what do I do?  Where does the story go? Keep writing, I tell myself, and stop saving shit to the desktop!  It’s a mess, as Miss Alice the other day pointed out.  More sips from the coffee and I think of all I have to do tonight when I get home.  A no wine night for sure, as last I had more than I should have.  Not too much, but just enough to keep me in later than necessary this morning.  A bit of the scone, sip of the coffee– the writer’s mood rises and my curiosity pulsates with the notion and potential that I may be in my own office sooner than I think.  mmc just needs a bit of a boost, and I need more time to focus on what it is I truly want to do with the company which is grow it and tell more stories for people.

So quiet in here, nothing moving, but whatever adjunct’s in the cell, I can hear them ripping papers, tearing either old posters or papers, hard to tell the size of the paper by sound alone, but I guess it’s rather large.  And I’m here looking at the clock, looking at the papers I have to mark which shouldn’t take me that long, and my coffee and shrinking scone, my keys– the adjunct rips another piece.  Can I go in?  Feeling so exposed in this conference room, where the full-timers always meet to discuss whoknowswhat and solve nothing and interview.  Good for them.

Tired and just wanting to nap.  The coffee has lost its clout and coded cloud but I make myself write through it.. planning the lecture or lesson, or meeting, whatever, in my head.  Giving myself a couple more minutes to rant or vent or if I dare call this writing.  Just realized where I am, what I do, what I’m trying to do.  Not that I didn’t know before but an odd reminder, or something, some realization and reconnection with my story, and reality, and everything, from the novels to the memoirs, the short stories, the poems, the books I want to read again and the semesters approaching..  I write my first note for the day’s lecture: “Editing Mode”.  And then I get distracted again, finding a note for mmc then putting it under other papers– I feel scattered and more or less of a writer and I want that nap again, just a moment to sleep or recharge my battery, as this coffee isn’t doing a thing, honestly.  And I’m distracted again, this time checking messages on my phone– Kerouac didn’t have a phone at Sur, lucky bloke, I should throw this thing (my phone) from the balcony outside, into the quad, onto the pavement, watch it scatter into hundred of pained fragments and I just laugh.  I would, seriously.  How many times has this thing distracted me, pulled me from both poem and prose paragraph?

Checked the word count for everything above, and saw registered “666”.  Can’t be good.  Or do I even believe in that?  May drive to Mendo tomorrow, get my books ordered and drive back.. find where my room is, walk around, re-immerse myself in the stage, but I’d have to leave early.  Jackie’s staying home so I can leave around 8, get there at nine, leave before ten, be back in time to go to fair.  And get a run in, after.  Or maybe before Alice & J wake.. thinking, thinking, but I’m fading, fading.. 3 minutes and 1 hour till class.. and go.. that adjunct emerges, who is it?…..  Never seen her before but she comes in here and says “Helloooo…” then walks to the mail room to do more ripping.  Rip… rip…..  so bothersome.  Why does she have to do it out here?  She has that whole office to destroy and waste paper!

Now I’m in the cell, and I’m more electrified for some reason.. going to go to classroom soon, early, and ready myself for the meeting– have a plan more or less prepared, and now I leave for class, ready for anything.. and I’m sure they will be excuses and reasons for why some aren’t prepared, but I’m not in the mood to hear that.  I want to see students own their work, be proud of their ideas…. but maybe I’m wishing for too much.

And now I’m home.  Ready for sleep and having no wine I’m convinced I’ll wake early to write, work on material for clients, and then run when Alice and Jack leave for the gym, Jack to play in that little area they have, the one with the huge slide that intrigues him so much.  And now I feel like a complete useless contradiction as I told my students this evening that if you don’t care about what you’re writing then don’t expect your reader to care.  And here I am, writing, and not into what I’m writing; that is, not connected, not intimate, not found, not finding anything new in or about mySelf.  But there’s still tomorrow, tomorrow when I write about these clients of mine and their stories, especially Glenn’s with his vineyard business and the wine label, the winemaking and the relationship with wine and the world IT creates– its IT, my IT, finally found I think and I hope it with me stays as I only know to write about wine and the reactions that it fosters and forwards.  But now then I have a second wind, or maybe not a second but a first and a third and maybe I’ve hit three pages for the day but I can’t be sure and I can’t be obsessed I just have to keep writing like my students and I may be more a student of them than them of me.  And how’s that?  I don’t care.  I love it.  I’m headed to the Road and I will never look back, never regret a thing about anything just keep writing and traveling then come home to my family and share my writings and stories.  So what am I going out there to find?  Newness, as I explained so many times, and with this new semester, and another class in Mendo, I take on what I thought was troubling me; the campus and the full-timers, but I’m a radicalized adjunct, with or without coffee.