NaNoWriMo, drop drop drop…..

I refuse to speak their language, communicate in orthodox institution talk.  When I’m there I’m not there, from here on.  After being up most of the night with a staccato-ing airy granulated bark of a cough, I’m in moods of indignation, but focus, clearer and just removing that world from mine, starting over, and deciding that next semester I’m taking no classes.  Anywhere.  I’m done.

…wine’s and how it’s for everyone and you can only read further into the Sonoma Country scroll.  And yes, what I wrote is mostly Sonoma-centric.  Not to omit Napa, but I do.

My new language, un langage plus beuatiful.  Week 16 in their world will be Week 1 in my new character’s life, a writer– of wine, travel, Literature, life, work, entrepreneurship, running (have to get back to..), French…

…just what they don’t want us thinking, and that’s all I’ll say.  I see so many of us complaining about the driving and the waiting and the sections we get not being what we want.  And why?  And there, no more on that.  I’m speaking my new language.  Consider this my divorce from them, from it, those huts and cells where they stick us. 

And when I get to campus I decided to redefine the terms of the divorce with academia but on my terms.  Not ever using the ‘a’ word that they have as part of my job title.  No more.  I walk around campus going to the library for a coffee and I can tell the oncampus population is thin today, many having already left.  And while climbing the odd SRJC library stairs to the little shop where my Sumatra awaits I think I may be writing more a memoir than a novel..

…but I listen to some Bobby Hutcherson here in the shared office and reveled in forgetting where I was, am.  Oh yeah I’m on campus, I thought, but I’m a writer not an ‘a’ and living like I intended to this morning with that article I posted to a social media site.

Writing more ideas in the new journal Mom and Dad bought me, poems and poetry and poems to sell on the side in addition to the articles.. reminding myself that next semester there will be no semester and this is all I have and will always have.  But I won’t be the broke writer, never, not, no.. blogging and taking pictures, even putting together photojournals with some added creative copy–