I’m tired, eager for something to happen with the writing— part of me wants to just say ‘fuck office hours’, go home and take a nap. But no I’ll stay here and take a break around word 500 and get some coffee. More coffee. Adjunct professor life is beginning to motivate me into a more deeply-doting case of the ‘fuckits’. And why not, at my age. More to grade, but it’s shorter assignments so not too bad. Want to walk around campus, take a couple pictures, just capture the cold but clear morning out there, all the students at this halfway point in the semester, how they look, how many books they’re carrying, what they’re talking about— the other day I was in line to get a coffee, behind these two girls that kept talking about what kind of tea to get and I just stood behind them quietly and politely saying to myself “Hurry the fuck up, just pick one…” They did, then went to the coffee bar where I was to get my coffee after buying the medium cup, and they talked some more. What I thought was somewhat useful for me as the observer was that they talked about school, their classes, getting tests back and how much longer they both had till they transferred. I miss that, hearing from a school that I’m accepted into a program. Last time I felt and experienced that was when living in San Ramon, being admitted into CSUEB’s English M.A. Yes I keep thinking about the doctorate, but still… I’d rather write. Teach a little, but write. WRITING. WRITING will be my “job”… That’s what I want Jack and Emma to see me doing— speaking of my “job”, I still have those poems to type.. the ones I wrote my last days in the Sanglier tasting room and the one I wrote yesterday at Dutcher.
Listening to the department admin talking to the other adjunct I share the cell with around this time of day, about San Diego and either applying to a school down there or teaching. I think it’s for matriculation— and I think….. I’m not ready to be a student again. Just want to write. Love the feel of this conference room this morning and me at this table, the upper part of the “T” that the two tables form. A puzzle, two of them actually, on the table to my left, something the faculty members do touch-and-go’s on. Pictures on the wall at my 12, none with me. And why would there be.. I’m just an adjunct. Need to go for that walk, just take pictures and write about the stills I capture in my phone when I get back.. I’ll write in the cell, regardless if that other adjunct’s in there or not. Nice lady, always says hello. BUT….. I need quiet. Aloneness. Solitary, like it’s my own cell, and I’m willingly imprisoned for sakes of my paragraphs streamings. Then music overtakes the writer, sitting here at the T and going over what I lectured on this morning, on Argument, on that silly textbook I selected at the last minute, ‘everything’s an argument’. Picked it at the last of last last-minutes, just to use something new. I saw another professor was using it, so I thought “Huh, maybe I should too.” Glad I did, I guess. Or indifferent. But if everything’s an argument, what’s this writerfatheradjunct’s? I guess that I’m done. Done with safety. Done with working. Done with settling. Time to chase the American Dream as Raoul did. Just go for IT, the IT Sal and Dean sought.. music and travel, sharing stories with my babies when home from a trip, studying and being a book addict, running more, making wine, having everything. Why can’t I have everything?
Who says you can’t?
Society.. it’s always said.. ‘you can’t do it all…..’
Don’t listen to them, then. That argument isn’t for you.
Interesting. Yeah… maybe it’s not.
Something’s already happening. I don’t need to wait. Much better place and mood than yesterday, that’s for sure. Hate when I get like that, all cranky and self-defeating, and thinking of the NO rather than YES.. why do I do that? I’m still learning, and as a writer trying to write through it, past it, but in it and from it. Now I’m lecturing myself, and I guess that’s how I pull myself from funks.. or how I should continue to. What do you do when in a mood? How do you deal with it? If you’re reading this, you’ll offer an idea. And if no one’s reading then I’m meditating and talking with Self so either way I’ll walk away with something.
Back from walk. Coffee at left. Just met with student on rewrite. Surprised anyone showed to the office hour, and right as it started no less. Took one picture while walking to caf’ and back, took it just as I began steps down from this Emeritus floor. Tired still but the coffee should help and I so much want to run, go to the gym and sprint on that treadmill. Need to register for a ‘half’. But which one. Napa/Sonoma? The Healdsburgs? Rub eye again, other adjunct here in cell with me… Odd silence while she packs her bag, either for class or to leave campus. “Have a good one,” she says walking out. “You have class, or…” I nose. “Yeah…” “Have a good one,” I follow, returning to keyboard to trap our back-and-forth, meaningless as it is. Don’t think it’s a symptom of fuck-it-itis, my current tone, but a breathing out, relief, soupçon of Zen. Nice. Lovely in fact. Sip coffee… take poem from backpack… start typing.
8 lines. Time for a break. I think I’m lazy.. but I’m drinking coffee. Whatthefuck.
Just noticed the other adjunct left the door open. And I can hear a full-timer talking to a student, like they’re stupid of course. Hate that. Closing door.
3/16/16