img_0386…freeing sense from something in your character.. it’s already there, I tell myself.  It has to be.  Anymore, that’s the only idea, or one of them, that readies hope in my circulation.

Thinking of where I am…. Santa Rosa Junior College.  Emeritus Hall.  Room 1663, the shared office, one of them, on this floor, for adjuncts.  They stick us in here like petting zoo piglets.  Others just go with it, but I speak up.  I have to.  It’s just early, and I’m cranky, and I don’t want to drive up to fucking Geyserville after this and be a wine person.  Just not today.  Distracted by email.. I know, you read that in a previous page and I need to focus.  What if I did what I said, actually actuated what I advocated to students, to just write and not stop, not think, to just bloody write.  What would that do to my character?  How would that affect things in this parallel mindset of mine?  Don’t have time to hunt for synonyms for scavenge for French words, I just have to propel me to page and write freer than free, be me and more poetically, more lawlessly.  I have to be on the page what I aim to be in life, how I want to live and what kind of workday I want, how I want my babies to see me.  Lots of thinking for so early…

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