Fly Another

img_3318This morning with an interesting start, me already with two cups under my belt and a third on the way.  Again, no 4AM, but I have, pushing, till 8:20 to write.  Time currently 7:25.  Use every second, I tell myself.  Every blink is of value.  Going to post to teaching blog, the bottledaux blog, share article on Medium.  Look through Comp Book some more.  Huh, wrote on its cover “Spring ’16”, but multiple semester notes alive in its borders.  Who knows how many students and how many rushed lecture notes, how many at-the-last-minute scribbling and meeting plans just bloody thrown into it.  The Composition Book is always there for me.  Don’t want to start a new one.  This particular binding and I have an elevated association.  Love, hate, questions and answers, I just keep going with it and even with the rough start this A.M. it reinforces its solidarity with the writer.

Two assignments for day.  “I can do it,” I tell myself, and that’s the tone that needs to pervade this day and all the others if anything’s going to happen with my efforts.  This desk, a mess.  What if I just took everything off and set in piles just to my left side, slightly behind.

Everything off desk, to left, threw some paper strays away.  Even removed from this surface the laptop’s soft padded casing, and my wallet, keys, so only the coffee at left, and these keys.  But time is away chipped.  29 minutes remaining in shift.  Have to work with that.  Can’t wish for what I can’t and don’t have.  Started with a couple words for article on Arizona florist, then sip coffee— my chant today:  TIRELESS.  Everything’s a standalone.  Wrote something this morning.  Short, somewhat abrupt, but that’s all I had time for.  As writers and bloggers, and entrepreneurs, we can only use the time we have.  Me, learning, still so far from any kind of mastery I’m not sure you should be reading.  But this morning, with its quirky liftoff has gifted me something: a new lesson, a new appreciation of time, and like Mom and Dad say, “Don’t worry about your age!” And, said the morning, “Don’t worry about anything.” All are astute, valuable counsel for this overthinking and over-eager penner.  Spring ’16, this semester, technically over—well, regular instruction anyway—with its own individualized anecdotes and gems for my maturation.  But am I mature, or still just a dreaming dreamer who’s already use the ‘dreamt allowance’?

The Composition Book… speaking to me again from the floor, or inside of my bag which on the floor, right.  What it says, invite more instruction from surroundings; the newly-cleared desktop, the 3rd cup, the sweater you just threw on with the winery’s logo of the high-wheeled bicycle, keep revolving and developing, circulating and spinning, moving.  Don’t get tired.  I can’t.  Keep peddling, pedaling.  Your head is sure to be as clear and free as this desk’s top.  Bloody finally.