Who says writers have to be brief or short, curt. What’s wrong with being a little longwinded in your thought streamings? I’m at my most loathed of distance campuses, and the Story had me go into the adjunct hut rather than the quiet and removed lounge across the hall, which a character I’ve dubbed ‘Math Man’ has recently discovered and started to frequent. Not sure if that’s part of my impetus for coming to this side of the hall this morning, but I’m here. This final week of instruction for this angry adjunct. No more of this campus, I think THAT is most of the reason I came to this side of the hall. To feel like I’m done, to feel victory, to recognize I NEVER have to be here again. Wish I had more coffee but the 3-shotter I sipped on the way over here from Sonoma/Napa still electrifies my inner-echoes and has me in full written character this morning. Waiting for another adjunct, fellow writer and plainly lovely Human, ‘R’, to see if she can proctor the funny departmental exam for my class, one week from today, the day my daughter’s scheduled to land. I’ll ask R first, then go to the Humanities office and TELL, not in any way ask, what the plan is for my time on exam day. Driving over here, the fog, wanted to stop and shoot some pics with the phone but I didn’t. Instead, I just drove, and that’s what the writer needed. Just a drive. The music as I now listen (but different station; on drive it was Thievery, now it’s Hutcherson). This is just why I came to the adjunct hole, to feel like no longer I’m just an adjunct being tugged by nostrils semester to semester. If I’m to be some template for my daughter, what a man should be and what a father should execute in his role (the future father of her children which in NO way I now want to envision– already I’ve decided no male on this planet satisfies even a tenth of the requirements I have preordained, to be with Ms. Austen), I’m to defy.