Waiting for laptop repair. Going to campus after this to write and plan for the semester. Had revelation this morning about me, and work, and “career”. The concept and reality and tangible existential touch of the career. “What do you do?” People ask. As in, for work. So if I’m to think and respond singularly, what do I say? Writer or teacher? Probably ‘teacher’. Anyone can write. Yes in a perfect world I’m a writer, but that sounds too predictable, plain. “I’m a writer…” That just sounds fluffy, phony and flawed. I’m am a writer but I should never have to say I am. I will tell others I’m a teacher, if asked. But the writing will just jump from my peregrinations. But, if I’m a teacher, if that’s my allotted gig then I have more to write about. A year ago today I wrote that the coming semester would be my best, the one that defines me and further forwards and writes my story. But I had two classes. Now, I only instruct one. See myself being repaired and rebooted with this goddamn laptop. Here I go… 11 minutes left in reboot, repair, restart.. rewrite.