6:42 in the adjunct cell.  

Need today to be different.  Day already promises a stark spike in temperature, and I thought last night that “Hmm, maybe that’s telling me something.” Always looking for signs, and warranted action, things that I should interpret for sakes of motivation.  But why?  Maybe it’s already here—  NO, it is.  Already here.  Bag on desk, phone and keys, and I go numb, thinking.. thinking like I always do.  Each scene today must be different.. everything about it.  So… first I’ll leave office hour early, run for over an hour when home since I didn’t wake this morning at 4:15 to hit pavement.. was up early from little Emma demanding meal, before my aimed-for time, but I went back into sleep like I always do.  Another no-wine night tonight with sights of rising early tomorrow, but for writing, or running, or BOTH.

Different, a contrast of character for the adjunct, disregarding me “age” entirely.  My age.. “So what!” I say to myself audibly under the air that just came on.  Heat or coolant, not sure, but that’s different that it sounded so early.  Pattern is DEATH, I now know, right before 37.  The schedules and the checks, all the senseless meetings your “managers” institute where they pretend to execute some grand idea that they just forget about and/or is usurped by their next shifting notion.

Plan for English 5- test book’s title, that ‘everything’s an argument’.  Let’s say it is.  Where is the argument in this song?…  Then we reconnect and go over what we’ve read about argumentation.. definitions, have them establish their own, or start with a word like ‘freedom’, or ‘happiness’, something.  I’ve always found definitions intriguing and enjoyable, ever since that day Bob Coleman made me sit in his office and read the entire definition of the word.. was it ‘revelation’?  Not sure.  But it taught me that definitions are crucial, dire even, the exact aorta of an argument and… the rest said in class.

And I’ll only lecture or teach for an hour, then pass back some work, then return here to cell.  Where I’ll mold something to sell, hopefully.  Other adjunct about to come in— no, full-timer down the hall, one that always falls asleep.  But I’m not worried about who it is, who’s coming or going.  I’m set in my ways for day— writing, lecturing, writing more, running, watching Emma while Alice goes for walk, then back to teaching this evening.  Then back home, more 7UPs, no wine, no beer— try to fit in at least 100 pushups.. write in little pages and TRANSFER what’s scribbled to book, or ‘MPM’.  Speaking of, need to edit that…

Difference, difference, out of character.. something.. something to get me to the Road, to my travels, write about everything and everyone out there.  I tire of the usual as it’s too usual and too frequent, an incessant ping-ponging or regularity.  Why would anyone tolerate that?  I know I don’t have to.  I’m armed.  With thought and wordstorms— there she is the other adjunct, the lazy and slow thick ‘good morning’, conveying no happiness or excitement for day.  I can’t live like that.  How can she?  I shouldn’t care.  Should only be focused on ME.