Sitting in class with student. Today was optional office hour day. He has no questions, just wants to enjoy this quiet and isolated time to work. So we work alongside each other, writing, in tandem but not. And news of a possible writing gig just landed in my arena.. for sure, no wine for the wine-adoring writer this evening, and early rise. Just asked him, ‘A’, a truck driver, what his key was to waking at 4 as he told me he often does. “Well,” he began, “if I don’t work I don’t get paid.” He then expanded his elucidation by saying he’s never been one to let people down. AND, he told me he’s only 22. TWEN-TY-TWO!!! And look at me, 37 and far behind his structure. So I change, and quick. Can’t wait to see what I produce for the book tomorrow morning, 4AM, or earlier. Sleep, I’m starting to see, is a vile enemy. It stops me, it fragments me, stops the project growth.
Still feel a bit of a hangover from the nap, but I’m functional. The talk I had earlier with A-M, the full-timer, follows me, not only disenchanted me from ever becoming a full-timer, but has me affirmatively resentful of the institution. “You’ll have no time to write, you won’t be a writer if you’re full-time,” she said.
“Well that solves that.” I thought.
Love days like today where so much more is clear and the surroundings and scenes and characters teach me. More than motivated, with just under 13 hours left on the ’24 hours to change my life’ counter.
So quiet in here, with Mr. A over there, laptop open, reading through his work, still no questions. I’m an adjunct, “not an essential part of the whole”, which would be this department, the school. And I don’t need to be. All my writings are essential, not little roaming reflective islands. This meeting, optional, provided more options for me, in what to do with this evening, tomorrow morning so early, my book, books, and career.
This room, utterly different with this context. Two writers, in a room, active, no intrusions or interruptions, noise or folly. Sip water… Have to stop at store, pick up something for little Kerouac, then home and slingshotted into daddy mode. Remember, I tell Self, take notes. Let the A-Walk Studio teach you. Let the kids teach you… So much to learn, so much to write, so much more for the books.