For the love of the Craft, just start writing, I tell myself. Setting time on phone for 24 hours— a project, to write 6,000 words that will change the momentum and direction of my life. This is a meditation, proclamation, declaration, all with affirmative stretch. In home office, quiet house, Alice and her mother taking babies to do a 5k in Healdsburg. Which leaves me here, to catalyze my 24-hour project and process.
Thinking again about trying for a full-time position teaching, somewhere, anywhere, but at the college level. If it were to be full-time, I wouldn’t have a problem driving somewhere, further north or south. Something to think about, storm the brain, possible part of this project… And there, the timer officially started. Drinking what’s left of cup two, thinking, thinking about tomorrow which wheels the beginning of Week 17. The semester, over. What can I do with this remaining time.. everything. Change another course with the two courses I’m teaching. Just found a couple openings, but far. No matter. Going to apply anyway… Start with writings for their application prompts but just general thoughts on education and what an educator should do. And I’ve always thought, directed from MLK’s words, that a teacher, a true educator, should inspire students; motivate them in some way to take an inward and outward look and improve themselves and the community around them. Now the thoughts compound, build and expand about my vision this morning, listening to my music and sipping the coffee… Education, me… how could I have been tempted to look away in any way, with other things, worlds and “industries”? No time to think about that. 24 hours, 6,000 words. My story will be different at the end of this, just keep writing.. Tolstoy, telling me that if I want happiness to just go fucking get it. Agreed, Leo. I got it. And I will go get it.
8:29AM, giving Self till 8:45. Then upstairs to ready for another day behind that bar, pouring, reciting, meeting interesting people and enjoying that view off to my left, up at that hill.
Started an app. For a position afar (won’t say where just yet), but we can make it work, Alice and I, our two mini-beats. Listening to Hutcherson, I need to be more jazzy about everything, my writing and thinking, reactions and when a negative front encroaches, just breathe, think of these Hutcherson mallets the light but intentioned percussion just playing but still creating music— the day and next 24hours mine, so ardently apparent in my syncopation with the synecdoche of sense and measurement. Different chords to be exdercised and utilized in tomorrow’s meetings. Take notes on everything, bringing the makeshift notebook I stapled together yesterday in the TR— today, all education and lecture-focused. Slow, but steady. OR, no, not slow, just steady and swift, pen moving always, using EVERYTHING around me as fodder for my teaching, writing, teaching writing, teaching these cocky wind-bush full-timers on campus how to REALLY teach. Oh the electricity in my jitters with the eager seismology of the professor I always saw myself being, when in Mr. Sullivan’s class, Creative Writing, ’97, Serra H.S. I’m becoming HIM, who I wanted to be, all these detours nullified by the initial mission. Sip coffee… And to the day.
À Votre Santé – Mike