me:  6/3/16

Already with 2 cups swarming and swimming in my circulation, I battle decisions.  And this new age, 37.. what to do, how to do it, what to write and when to write what I’m going to do.  “Why not now?” One thought says.  Yeah, that never occurred to me… please.  Just in an agitated state, place, not so much that it curves or is infused to my mood, just irked a bit.  That I didn’t get up this morning when I wanted, that I have to be away from the keys for EIGHT hours, that I still need to post grades…..  That I need to write the outlines and lectures for the freewriting course.  That I just don’t have enough fucking time!

I’m on the precipice of acting, just doing solely what it is that invigorates and enlivens the writer.  Not doing a single bloody thing ‘cuz I have to’.  I’m nearly there…

Teaching.  The answer to everything lies in the act of teaching.  As when I teach, I learn, and not just about the students but about me and what I truly want, what it is that gives me life.  Like with the ‘5’ students this semester, the students that drove discussion and encouraged me, assured me that I’m a teacher without them even realizing what they were doing; how I felt every morning after meeting with them.

I keep repeating the HST quote about life becoming “immeasurably better” after being forced not to care.  Am I there?  Kind of.  And it’s not that I don’t care, I’m merely more set and entrenched in what I want.  And I know what I deserve as a person of specific ability.  My abilities.. do I mean ‘talents’?  Not really.  Just what I know I do reasonably well.  And not even that so much as where I feel comfortable.  What makes me happy.  That’s in the classroom, at these keys, writing plans and notes for when I’m in the classroom.  I SHOULD be on the road to work right now.  But I’m taking a couple minutes for my Self.  Then, going to buy the Self coffee.

“More coffee?” You’re thinking, I know.

“Yeah,” I ricochet, “more fucking coffee.”