The mood is putting me in a mood. So I blast my way out of it with thought— the class I’m about to teach. What am I teaching today, this Halloween. So very much was tempted to call in sick today, stay home, actually have a bloody day off. But there is NO such thing for people like me, tireless writers who are as affected mood-wise by not writing as writing. That has to be it. Woke too late, had rough morning with babies, slow to wake, both of them, and me flying up to winery to take care of a little business. If only I could wake at that hour my former student did, more than likely still does… 03:45. I’d be writing by 4, or maybe a couple minutes before, and ready when the babies wake. I can keep trying, all I can do.
Teaching myself to ignore my mood. And I am. Today in class we’re going over rough drafts. Only keeping them an hour— No, did that last class. Just take your time, I tell myself, “Go slow, and all will follow.” Writing is not about rushing through the project. Yes, if you get to your daily thousand or whatever your goal is quickly then great. But, don’t have the intention to rush. I look down at the word count of this document, ‘100,730’… and counting. Why is my book not done yet? Why am I not traveling? Why am I not like my former student in Paris going to jazz cafés and snacking along the Seine? Take your time.. no rushing. First student walks in and I’m on stage.. he sees me writing and I watch him from the corner of eye sit and open bag. I can only afford to be writing, right now. To be seen writing. Nothing and everything to do with wine. How? The life I’m putting into this sentence… the mood I’m combating, harvesting only yay-say from my character’s composition.
Couple more notes needed for day’s lecture. Student walks outside to eat sandwich. Time already 12:26. How did that happen? Mind everywhere. Should have stayed home. But I’m here…. Turned on some chill beats for room and myself, wrote ten words in education journal. And I think about education, what I’m doing here, why I didn’t call in sick. Something must have brought me here, sitting at the class’ head, typing as I am. I could have called in, but didn’t. I didn’t. I came here, to teach… what is it about this thing I do? I don’t know. Not the attention… the writing? The ideas? The students? Or is it just IT. The collective entity of “teacher”. Interesting. My mind goes to teaching online, more teaching and wildly conveying my instruction, with truth and composed creative— Do I start a new blog? Or use one of the ones I started a while ago and didn’t follow through with? I have the answer, but will hold it to avoid hexing my certitude.
Mood elevated, and off ground…. Flying in my reality and reasoning…. Two students in room— 3. Now I’m in mood, mode, my Mike Madigan manuscript.