from today’s 3

…Home, readying for bed, doing a little work for a client but not that much.  Was contacted by the chair at SSU for a possible last-minute singing for a class.  We’ll see.  Just another case of an adjunct getting excited only to be deflated and sent away.  What makes them think they can do this to us, raise hopes only to reduce those hopes and turn them into something bitter, something venomous and directed in spite.  And they wonder why we are the way we are.  I think it’s funny, really.  But either way here it’s noted, Sonoma State contacted me, at minute last, seeing if I was available along with other adjuncts.  I feel like a dog, or a horse, a work horse seeing if I’m good enough for more trails.  I’ll confess, I do hope I get the class so I don’t have to pour wine as much, but who knows.  I don’t.  That’s what makes an adjunct an adjunct.  The not knowing, and the hunger, the persistence, the constant movement and juggle– the adjunct, the ever-grower and seeker and the musical teacher, the more artful of educators, not in some cozy office or having to just be ‘cause it’s coded contractually, we are the educators to emulate, if you must know, those of us that still love teaching.  Have it noted, this life does take the passion away from some, the weaker adjuncts.  But me this writer, I won’t let them or the system rob me of the fervor to be with students and explore Literature with them.  I won’t stop teaching, in some capacity at least.  And, looking at the pictures I took the other day of the vineyards and knowing how much I love wine and teaching and writing about both, the adjunct reality doesn’t sting as they’d like it to.  I’m quite fine with it all, really, as this adjunct remains in control– no, more than just a ‘control’ of sorts.  More a dominance.  A suppression of those wanting to suppress me and thinking they can and thinking I’ll just chase their fucking carrot, that semester to semester carrot.  Why would I do that?  I’ll teach, each term, but I’m not being led.  I lead.  Myself.  Where I want to be.

Finally, a letter from Nadav.  Haven’t read it yet, but I will here in the study area of the Autumn Walk base.  Wish I had another of these Little Sumpin’ Wild’s.  Ravishing beer, really, with the pugilistic hoppiness and the wavy texture, like an Ale-y ocean on my tongue.  Lovely.  Also this morning on my run, I thought about old writings, and collecting writings, old and new and approaching manuscripts the same way musicians do their albums– no more of this excess meditation and deliberation.  This need be a hustle of sorts and that’s how I’ll wind it, track after track.  While waiting for students to show I found myself writing haikus sequences, I think two of them if I remember to accurate points.

And I think I’m done with this day, honestly I can barely keep the writer’s eyes open and his attention focused on the session, always distracted by some message on email or somewhere else, I’m tired of technology, I need to completely unplug but I know that’s not an option not with this business I started, why did I do that to myself now I’m forever bound to these buttons and screens, but if it makes a better life for my family then how can I complain?  I can’t…