A Lifting Act

Let class out early.  Had a healthy and energized meeting, but let them out early so I could retire here to the adjunct cell and collect self.  For what.  What’s my objective…  To be here, have quiet, no one in this cell but me.  No class tomorrow through Monday, which may feel odd or may feel quite wonderful.  Not sure.  I’ll see.  Need wine, I start to think.  Some of that Tempranillo I bought.  I keep talking about it so yes it will be opened tonight and I’ll lay in more affirming ebbs.

Hungry, so I’m tempted to leave right now but I know I need this solace, this isolation after today.  Too much.  Just too much.  All evaluated concretely and with confidence.  I would take back not a thing, or anything that preceded today’s “things”.  You learn from everything.  I do.  Or, I’m starting to, at my old, old age.  Ugh, I hate aging.  I don’t even have time to get into that—  And I won’t.  That’s negative.  And I’m quitting negativity.  Could write a book on that alone.  It is worse than fucking smoking.  Often it happens when you complicate something for yourself.  Negativity is so often self-inflicted.

Starting to collect quotes, like one of this semester’s students, and post some to bottledaux.  One of my recents, from Confucius: “Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.” OH, so true.  So wildly and diversely TRUE.  I saw and felt and heard such today.  Always tell myself ‘talk less and write more’, and some days I actually succeed.  But now, a way for this writer.  Not that I said anything I shouldn’t have, I just need to write more, and more joyous and thrilled throw.  But this is just day 1.  Day ONE of detox, of my negativity rehab, or disposition reformation—  What a lovely first step, if you will, coming to this room right after class.  Can hear students on the other side of this inner-office door, the one that leads to the balcony or indoor semi-roof of the neighboring theatre room.

Stopping at either Safeway or the Walgreens down the street, Piner & Marlow, and get  a fresh composition book to mirror and align with this ‘restart’.  I’ll scribble tonight while sipping that red—  Office just went dark.  Forgot the lights are on detector.  But I’m not getting up.  I’ll write anyway.  In fact, there’s more zen about me.  I forget about the mammalian hunger and acknowledge a diametrical penner edacity.  I want to write everything about this office, how poetic it is with its blandly tinted walls and this desk.  And me here trying to write it with my tired face and slouching back, aching legs from yesterday’s perfect ‘half’.  With my lighter tonality, I become a towser of a writer.  A tower.  Not so people can look up to me, but so I can admire and love and learn from what’s “below”.

Again, growl from core.  Should go, I guess.  7:50.  Eh… maybe a couple seconds additional.  The only way I can be, is this, a maniacal typer, or scribbler in a comp book.  No order.  That’s positive to me.  That’s the gem.  That’s the boon.  MY thoughts come and go and I try to catch what I can.  Often failing.  But when I hug one of them, I roll in more amour.