all about capturing my reality in this day no matter how fucking boring someone might think it is. Just did an exercise in my English 100 class about pitching a story. I told them the concept or dominant idea, word, of the day was ‘pitch’. So they get together in groups of four, after each writing up a general idea for a story, independently, they elect one story and build it a bit further and work on a pitch, why someone would want to read the story, or invest in the idea as a publisher or motion picture company or whatever. The exercise went unbelievably well, with presenting groups outlining the logic behind their story and why someone would read or watch it, what their target audience is… and the students who questioned them (I told them to alway be in the mode of rejection, of not wanting to publish or invest in the story, as to further antagonize and facilitate conversation, debate) were equally if not more fiery. The whole time they were in their little engagements and tussles, I kept thinking, “Who would want to read my story?” Honestly, I don’t know… Parents? Runners? Wine lovers? Adjunct professors? Someone does, I’m just going to focus on relaying my reality not giving a slice of a care as to who’d be interested.
I’m in the shared adjunct office, “the adjunct cell” as I always call it, with my blueberry muffin, large coffee, papers stack, pens, and cell phone atop the papers. Only have about 20 minutes or so left to write. Budgeting 30 minutes of collection, relaxing and writing, then to grading. Giving that only 30 as well then I’m going back to time for me. This morning, on my 10-mile run, I felt so free, free with no rain finally and only the most visually encouraging vineyards in their fall form cheering me on. Freedom, a sense of that I haven’t felt in a while. I knew time would be tight when I arrived back home and had to shave and shower, pack the bag with my laptop and all the books, these pens, the papers, then go to Starbucks and get a coffee which I didn’t do. I walked into the classroom near 12:43, I think, one of the students even remarking how far away from my usual time I am. I more often than not walk through the door at about 12:20, and they’re there, talking with each other, these two girls and one boy. The girls, friendly and talkative, inquisitive and bubbly while the boy is to himself, not communicative, and appearing opposed to the interaction. But today, they could see, these two girls, that something was different. One remarked how I shaved, while the other said my hair appeared darker when actually I only wet it, applied a reluctant rain of gel, and combed. No coloring, no styling, nothing professional. When do I have time for that?
