10 minutes…

Pressed ‘Start’.  And now off I go.  I know the story I’m going to tell, and it comes back to being an Ox in a  Bottle, the adjunct wanting to do so much when he at first only set out to be a teacher of English at the college level.  Now, he’s set to tell stories, set to go go go—  He knows he can’t stop, he can’t afford to stop with two kids and a business he’s trying to build, all from creativity…  So what next, he meditates, keeps going but slows down when he needs to.  I now, he thinks some more, but he doesn’t want to spend too much time just deliberating and thinking.  He has to pull the trigger at some point.  And he’s going to.  NOW.  No more adjuncting, not like they want him to.  He’s the creative adjunct, going back to the practice and Art of teaching but taking it in a direction he wants.  Where he can be creative and not have to follow some hollow course outline.  He pressed ‘Start’ alright, a start to a new story and a new direction, new waves of promise and forward.  So here he goes, to sell his first project, product… a mash of pages he threw together.  He challenges himself to sell it, and sell it well.  Will he?  Of course he will.  This is going to end never.  And if it does, it’ll end how he wants it to end.  The day starts to wind down but he’s only starting.  At 7:25, and he doesn’t see himself stopping, even when his body tells him it’s time to stop and maybe take a break or eat or get some rest.  He can’t afford that.  So…  Off I go.  I am him, he be me.  A new me.  A re-written ME.  Can’t wait for the whole world to see.  When you’re an adjunct and you just subscribe and resign to whatever assignments they give you, you’re giving up.  Not me, especially not this new me, with this fire and inner creative seismology.  Wish I had champagne in this classroom to celebrate.  Why don’t I?  I let them go early, should have flown to the Safeway up the street and came back with one of those mini Cooks bottles or something.  No, then I wouldn’t have had this meditation.  So here I go.  Here come my stories.  And I’ll sell every blasted one of them.  When sold out, I’ll sit and scribble more.  Then I’ll have some champagne, or wine, some nice bottle that you save for some victory.  Huh, that’s what I should have here, some nice bottle, like a… I don’t know.  MY mind’s spinning, in the Creative.  That’s going to be capitalized now every time I write it.  Creative… Creative…..  CREATIVE.  And like that, I stop, think more.  Not so much planning, but just thinking.  What I’m about to do, where I’m about to go.. and what I’m about to see others seeing about me.  Can only smile, laugh a little, I guess.  I surprised myself.