Week 2 Starts

And I have the same positive invincible attitude I had last week that only met once, Wednesday.  This has to be the semester, I tell myself, the semester that I use two classes, just these two, a ‘Critical Theory’ and ‘Composition’ to build what someone, most pertinently ME, would consider a career.  Should get to the library but I’m quite cozy in this shared adjunct cell after having to leave the peace and isolated boon of the conference room.  Felt like I was in one of those balloons over Dry Creek, just enjoying the view and the placement up there, the moment which was all mine.  Would love a nap right now but I can’t afford a pause, or such halt.  What I should do, is leave my bag here and head to the library with my Composition Book and scribble some ideas for the PhD sample (shooting for 20 pages, not an inked character more).  Pleased with myself for already having a thesis in what I’ve written for the sample, Kerouac and music as his savior, his “religion”, how he gets his “truth fix”… you’ll see.

The other adjunct leaves, and I’m quite out of coffee.. shit.  Well, perfect time to get some at the coffee shop in the library.  Brilliant!  Done!  Leaving!  (9:38AM)

Back from the library and I wound not getting a coffee (no cash and didn’t want to use debit).  Emailed self article for PhD research.  Should stop calling it that and just “my own research,” a lecture I can use this semester or later, or whenever.  It’s my writing, I’m merely sharing it with those reviewing the applications.  A student from last term, ’T’, applied to Stanford, Berkeley, Harvard, and I think even too Yale.  And she’s the level of student that would be admitted into schools of that magnitude, I have no doubt.  And it’s funny that this term I seek to be more like students of her form and habits than the English “professor” I’ve been all these years.  This semester I’m more a student than a professor.

10AM.  Office hour starts now— oh shit!  Forgot to include in the email my office room number.  I blame the exhaustion, this fading coffee.  There… sent it.  Now to focus on the 1A class.  First meeting on Sylvia Plath.  Should print some poems for them, which I will.  Talk about ideas addressed in the text without getting too into the text itself… just scribbled a couple ideas.  Will do the rest at home.  This semester reinvents me as an educator but as well as one knowing what he wants from life, in his life and how he wants his children to see him.  Professor— or teacher— educator…  Just happy.  Me as a brand, that has to be part of it, seen as someone who LOVES and is obsessed with what he does.  Words.. literature.. pages and expression on the pages.

A student again.  With aims, and end-game, one I can see, finally.  And yes, I garrulously keep the invincible sense about me.