Heated Campus

First day of the semester, and my mood is fumbling for some reason, probably that first day of the semester feeling that any instructor feels.  Imagine the students, those students just out of high school, just stepping onto a college campus for the first day, first time in the spectrum of elevated learning.  So, me, here in this Yulupa Starbucks with my mood and my 4-shot mocha, and the Hutcherson station attempting to pull me from whatever pushes me down.  Just a couple sips from the mocha makes the writer feel much better, I have to say.. have to get my comp books across the street, have the syllabi copied, call Solano and Mendo, then I should be more above water.  And that’s what this mood is, not stress so much like I said being pushed, below waves.  So I write through it and keep with my mission on this day 1, the means to the end, and at the end a daughter and full avocational/vocational autonomy.  No more of any anchors.

Posted to client 1 blog, waiting ‘OK’ for client 2, posted to teaching blog and now the bx blog, and to campus to copy syllabi.  Don’t forget the Comp Books!  Time, 9:50.  Still over 3 hours till class.  Good.. need the surplus of time for my sanity.  My mood, off the ground, and me as well with my fast typing and excitement in seeing returning Summer students.  Wake tomorrow at 5AM… I did set my alarm for this morning but didn’t hear it.  I didn’t do that on purpose, have the volume so low that the dust microbes on the screen couldn’t hear it.  What happened doesn’t matter I have to keep moving and keep writing and planning for the classes.. call other campuses, reminder REMINDER.  Once this semester is over and M2’s here all will be more sound.. again, means to end, and that “end” is only the most beginning of beginnings.

Still waiting on text from client.. how many tons did we pull from that vineyard?  Hate waiting.. but he’s busy, I know.  Wait…..

He just responded.  Now I wait for photos to upload.  Seems like that has been quite the consistency in my life, of late.  Once I post this piece, I’m off to store for Comp Books, maybe a quick haircut right next door, then to campus.  Don’t forget to make those calls!

Done with blog work, now I leave, 10:23, 7 minutes ahead of what schedule I composed and set into motion for myself this morning.  Still have to send a memo to Sara, my PR friend from SF.. so much for the writer to do.. keep moving, keep with the coffee and water, nothing that slows the typing or teaching or posting, or anything about me.  My babies need their daddy to be quick, lightening with all his tasks and campaigns.

On campus.  Syllabi copied, books ready, notes taken.. just need to call other campuses, then I’ll be universally above water.  12:16.. should call now.  I’ll return to day’s writing later, after 3PM section.  And when home, celebrate the day’s end, but just for a bit.  More writing to do for this writer and more projects demanding contribution.  I don’t want to rest, or stop, I’m motivated by the end vision, me with only one glass to teach and writing full-time and traveling around different wine regions and conveying their story through my collections.  Other ideas swarm now to me but I have to ignore them, need to call campuses.. FINALLY.

First class done.  Giving self 9 minutes to collect on page before heading to rm 1610. This heat is repugnant to say the least.  No A/C on anywhere I feel so I go to the conference room here in Emeritus where there’s a fan circulating and the highest most violent of revolutions.  Bought myself another water.  No wine sounds appealing right now, I’ll disclose.  Only water, the purest and most empirical of substances.  I do find myself hungry but the hunger’s used for a disciplinary mechanism, to push me through this heat and into this water bottle and start the semester more animalistically than I have, ever.

Got an email from an instructor at one of the other schools.  She’s a mentor and she’s making herself available to me.  To ME!  I’ve taught at that school before, and for years during my stay, and have been a teacher for nearly ten years, but because I’m a returning adjunct I’m to be offered mentorship.  I don’t care how kind she offers herself or makes herself available in any one way or more, I’m insulted.  And I won’t be returning that email, please note.

Bought 5 Comp Books from the store, one for each class and one for a journal for the term.  To be neat prose scribbled throughout and at the end of each day.  Today, 1, and each day is to be counted, even days I don’t teach as I’m sure I’ll be grading or organizing or writing lectures.. and that’s what I need do more of this term– write my lectures out!  Have them be their own standalones– and now I feel the hunger digging into my mood and character but still driving me..

3 minutes to my own, my place in this conference room with this fan above me that’s doing little to bloody nothing.  Going to try and run tomorrow morning, but you know how that goes.. there, there’s my mood, what this heat does to the writer.  Want to splash some water on this face, breath a bit, then to 1610.  The story onward rolls…

Second class done.  Now need to organize and stay organized.  Go home and put stuff on floor so you can see it all.  Then go from there.. run in the morning, have to.  My feeling now is optimism, droves and pools and storms of it.  Have to keep this motion in motion and the only way to keep it motioned is to be positive.  All yay no nay.  And wake every morning at 5, if not to run then to write and grade and plan.. print your lectures, this semester.. in addition to the blog posts.  At the end of this semester, if I stay organized and appropriately inventoried, I should have at least two full collections of works.  But I’ll see.. I’ll do my best, and I started very much with my best with some in-class writing in my semester’s Comp Book with the 3PM 1A section.  I have to capsule this energy and consistency.  Was quite flatter when I saw how full the 3PM section was, so many students wanting to add.  That must mean I’m doing something right, or perhaps even quite well, as a teacher.  So I need to build on this, that, feelings like what I felt and tasted in 1610.

Now, home.  Think I will have a beer on the patio.  Celebrate this first day.  Watch little Kerouac play in the Autumn Walk horseshoe with the brigade of hyperness.  Now the conference room quiet, know I need to walk back out in the heat but I have no interest in doing so.  And I’m in the goddamn far lot, the one by the football field.  Back into this blaze.  Need a glass, a taller than tall glass of lusciously epic water.