In the cell, and I sip Coke, not my usual coffee.  Didn’t want those jitters and the tremors I usually find with the cup.  And, to not at all my surprise, no word from SSU, even after two emails saying how much I’d love to come back and teach.  This is a game they play with the adjunct, I know it.  But I’m letting go and forgetting about it, looking to this new semester and all promised by it.  Just did a bit of work for a client now I focus on the last regular session of this Summer “semester”.  Workshopping rough drafts tonight, and doing a little writing.. not sure what else.. maybe a group activity, like the ‘create a character’ bit I do.  That always comes out quite interesting, I think.

Went to Mendocino today to order books and get my respective processes in motion.  I feel now like I have nothing to write and nothing to think, and absolutely nothing to offer this page.  Have more writing to do when home tonight for client 1, then to bed.  Hoping to get a run in, for morning, before meeting with client 2.  Then tomorrow night the Summer semester ends.. have to lock myself in the study tonight, just write and gather myself, organize before this busy impending term.. and collect writings as I’ve been meaning to, the adjunct has to always be more together, more cogent and fluent in his duties as he’s more mobile, more pulled and scattered between campuses than the full-timer.  The adjunct has a challenge that the full-timer can’t appreciate, really at all, as there’s no real connection for the adjunct other than to himself, to his practice and his teaching.  That’s all he has.  He’d love to be on some committee, but he hasn’t the time.  He works another job, two if you want to be honestly honest, aside from the classroom hours.  So he can’t “volunteer” as he’s so urged, as he’s told he has to if he ever wants to be full-time.  He has a family, so what is he supposed to do?  Easy:  MAKE IT HIS OWN.  Own the moments he has and all the talents at his disposal and fire away, keep going and use his life as material as so many of the authors he admires did, still do..

Her in the office thinking of the remaining hours in day, the Chardonnay I put in the fridge before leaving the house, and how it felt warmer outside that I remembered it being when I came back from the car wash, after returning from that long Mendo drive.  The Road, again with me, this semester two days a week, like in Fall ’14–

Reconnection with sitting after retrieving sparkling water from fridge in mailroom.  Don’t want to be interrupted, but I feel’s though I might be in a minute by that adjunct from the other day.  I don’t know what I’m feeling now in this goddamn office but I don’t like it, I should just leave, go home, email the students and be done with the Summer.  And what would that do.  Nothing.  That’s surrender.  The trials and pains of an adjunct supersede him even if he’s under some empowering impression.  Does he have control?  And if so what does it get him?  The adjunct role is about insecurity.. that’s just what they want, and they win for this moment, that’s what I feel but I recognize it and battle with this typed beat of mine, and thinking about the Road, all the forests in which I’ll write, some random bench on a trail, and wherever else.  While on the Mendo campus I had the urge to write in the Comp Book, in that little quad outside the library’s building, in between that an the bookstore’s building, where they have that cafeteria with the most horrendous bites and mochas you could ever hope or not hope to envision.  My plan for tonight, simple:  Edit.  Edit everything.  Perfect.  Perfect everything.  And as I mentioned the other night, the “feel” of the paper.  How do you feel about it, and how do you want your reader to feel.  And I realize I should be asking myself those very questions with everything I write, type.