inward jot

journal— 4/18/17

Tired.  Want to go to sleep.  But I have to work.  I have to be the tireless writer that I boast to be.  The news I heard yesterday, still troubling me.  Life is short, fragile, too exposed, too inviting to too much harmful.  So I move quicker, quicker.  I don’t want to sleep.  I want to write.  Sip this coffee… block out the other teacher in the room talking to her student about grades and what grades are possible.  Off to Healdsburg soon, to sell wine.  Just keep moving.  I’m a Bottled Ox, but I’m afraid of life and all that could happen.  Have to get over that, be like Dad in that race car… drive faster, be clever, maneuver.  There’s no time to get tired.  Be playful like my son, smile like my daughter, love endlessly like Mom.  Everything will be fine.—  Overhearing the discussion between student and teacher.  He speaking on how his boss told him to stay in school, ‘cause if you stay at a job you don’t like and you have to stay there to survive, living in resentment, then you’ve already “sold your soul”, he said.  And this is a young man, with such a directed tone, such understanding.  Sometimes I think I’m behind, but I’m not.  I’m where I need to be.  Where I should be… teaching, writing.  Yes, there’s wine, but that’s subordinate to the aforementioned.  What I learned from this morning— keep going, keep writing, words will wake you.  What I learned from yesterday— life is fragile, precious, not to be just expected… it has to be made.  What I’m learning from right now, in this adjunct cell typing this, hoping the coffee will finally soon do its fucking job— there’s so much love around me.  From people and the inanimate.  I’m right where I need to be, I’m sure of it.  I’m a teacher, English, at SRJC.  Adjunct, but I embrace it wildly as I never before have.  I used to be one of the grievers, one of the adjuncts that whined and complained, cited.  But not now.  This is just where I need to be, and the proper and most rewarding context.

Still tired, but what can I do but keep with my story telling, my sharing of being in the office overhearing a conversation between instructor and student, just down the hall.  Same thing.. grade.. paper, rewrite… ‘What can I get if I get this grade on the next paper, or the final’…. I’m dragging.  Fuck…  WAKE UP!!!  What am I learning from this tired weight on my shoulders and in my head, in my eyes, even in the typing fingers?  It’s from being a dad.  My favorite job.  Falling asleep next to Jack then going to room where wife sleeps, then back to his room after being pulled from sleep by “Dada…!” This is the result of being daddy.  A good dad, I hope.  I’m doing my best.  Need to be a better runner, though.  Still feel the speed work I did Saturday morning, through.  I’ll get out there soon.  But not with this hyper-lethargic lasso around me.  Part of me hopes something happens and I don’t have to work.  But then, no money.  But if it’s out of my hands, I’m guilt-free, right?  No… want to work.  I do.  I want to sell.  I want material.  I want more story.  I want to learn more.  Life… goddamn you for being so short, so delicate, so inviting of so much peril.  My mood sinks, but this is human.  This is me, right now.  Fix.  Elevate.  Don’t let the day go against your order.

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