Learning to let go, let GO. After making some overprotective statements and cautions to Ms. Alice, she ordered, “Honey, you need to let go.” Of course the context was obvious and quite contained, but I thought it useful to wonder, entertain outside application. What if I did let go of certain worries, and like HST said “stop caring”? Why not? What does the writer have to lose at this point in his story? Rough draft of the rubric done, so just taking a break, sipping the last of the Lagunitas. Looking at everything on my desk, which is cleared and cleaner, less cluttered than it’s been in a while (but still not where I want it), and think of tomorrow, what it means— another semester done. ANOTHER. And what did it do? Well, nothing yet. Like I said, it’s two outs, 9th bottom, bases heaping… So here I go. Could use another beer. Had too much wine last night, well not enough to make this morning hurtful at any level, just too much. Any more, I’m getting bored of wine and people react to it, this there’s some special fucking language for it. What? How? It’s wine.
Running after office hour. 7 miles. Then, two miles. The first seven will be speed work at the gym, then I’ll hop outside to run one mile out then one back. 9 total. Or maybe I should really beat myself up and hit 10. Need to be a real runner, a professional runner like my old friend JK, who’s run more full’s and half’s than I can remember.
Finally, quiet in the A-Walk Studio. Hard to concentrate when I can actually concentrate. A postmodern whirlwind of sorts, like I said in grad school when I made that presentation in the Theory seminar. Seems like forever ago. Fuck you, Time—
I’m utterly letting go of the Time and trying to control it. This, this time, here at my desk in my home office in the Autumn Walk Studio, with no noises around me, not even Hutcherson’s mallets or John’s sax, I’m centered. Where are my Kerouac books? Think outside on the bench, the workbench, where I had and still have the vision of building my startup out there. the blog, all from words, my efforts, adjective and verb-purposed. Nothing can harm me, no industry or pseudo-profession, and no this isn’t me venting, this is… I don’t know what it is. Well yes I do: meditation. Deep and directed. I went to grad school to be an educator. Not just to educate matriculants at a community college, but myself as well. Remember: I. Am. A. Student. So I study and summon what Grandma said right before her passing. “It’s YOUR life. you have YOUR choice.” Veritably, I see, I do.
No second beer. Want to wake earlier than early, whatever time that is. Not obsessing over 4AM as I have, just early. And I’ll dart to get my coffee, then to campus. Tomorrow: EVERYTHING IS SALABLE. Everything is a vendable piece. Hopefully I remember…