…these narratives, these essays which are more than obviously written to be read to an audience, and assaults with truth.  I admire her, feel like she’s doing something I can’t.  Like she’s teaching me.  Like I should be sitting where she is.  Maybe I should.  Maybe one class I should just put her up there, to read for all 1 hour and 50 minutes of class.  To entertain me, the rest of the class.  No, that would show favoritism—  “Well goddamnit!” I say to myself, just under the volume of the film being shown next-door in the theatre room.  I’ve always wondered, “What class is that?” I want to be a student in my own class and that one, and I have no idea what they’re teaching in that large fucking room.

4:12PM. Not sure what to do, now.  And, it just occurred to me, do I have to put a space between the time and ‘PM’ or ‘AM’?  Why am I obsessing over this right now?  Am I grading my own writing?  Is this “career” if you could call it that, as an adjunct instructor, contaminating me?  Is it this room?  The campus?  Have I had too much coffee?  Or is it just a sign of getting older?  This is insane.