Back from walk.  Have water. And papers..

so here I go, grading as I write and enjoy some time to self.

Done with papers.. want to be in classroom in 9 minutes, and also need a coffee after the heat took what energy I had.  So what now, back into the fucking sun to get coffee.. thinking an iced coffee which I rarely, rarely get.

Leaving again…

Now home.  Had great 1A meeting.  Now home and tired.  Just want sleep.  Not in mood to write, not even the sentence I’m now writing.  Aim is to wake at 4 again, do some core exercises, write, and ready for day at winery.  Need a vineyard walk tomorrow at some point.  Don’t care how hot it gets.

Notes for other project ideas, in Carpe journal (which I’m considering my “holstered journal”, that I have students practice in as well, their own of course.. almost spent money today for new one, but I held self and wallet in place), following through tomorrow.  Watched the film translation of Big Sur tonight with 1A-ers, or just the beginning scenes, a couple of them.  Wasn’t I going to re-read that book on my own?  Why can’t I?  Why don’t I?  Why fucking can’t I?  I WILL.  Think it’s in my desk but I don’t want to look for it and cause noise, with everyone asleep upstairs.  Have my second or third wind, now.  More like a light but consistent bluster.  I’m a teacher, and I’m practicing what I promote in class about staying in the chair, finishing what you’re working on, “If you don’t write, nothing’s written, no story’s told…”, that kind of thing.

Happy about getting all the papers graded.  A certain freedom a teacher experiences and enjoys when papers are graded, yes, but especially when they’re handed back.  They’re no longer weighing you down, in your bag forcing your speed and strut across campus to slow, which is a horrible pain when it’s as hot as it was this day.  Can’t stop drinking water, and that’s a staunch evidential stamp of the day’s heat’s effect on the writer.  Wine, not even beer, sound appealing.  Just water.  And lots of.

Now, bed.  Thinking of tomorrow and today and everyday.

But I change my mind, brewing some decaf that I can write to after my wife comes downstairs after a brief fall into sleep with little Kerouac.  My mind still everywhere and more everywheres than I can handle.  I’m going to teach, I say to myself, “And through the writing.” But I need to start in the classroom—  Keurig cued up, time for a cup…  Walked into kitchen and pressed BREW.  Alice watches one of her shows and I think of my workout in morning.  What should it consist of…  Sit-ups?  Yes.  Push-ups.  Planks.  That held squat pose, oui?  The thesis needs to revolve around chest and abdomen.  Then, run on Wednesday.  Devote the entire morning to running.  I will.  Plan a new course, instruct myself on new approaches to running and the places around Howarth/Annadel to run.

Desk still a mess.  Started to look a bit ordered, but just fell apart—  Get decaf…  On desk with me and all this teacher and writer rubble.  Papers and books, running magazines, keys, cords, earphones.  The exhaustion comes back, I try to focus on this screen and the chair I’m in, the decaf, but feign.  What if I had papers to grade right now, when in this slouching state?  Grateful I don’t.  With the next round of papers, I’ll give myself more time, start right when I get them.  Aim for ten to twenty a day.  Attention to Carpe journal, morrow’s agenda.

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