… clean desk, get books and put in bag.  No, use bag less…. Bored of my sentences and paragraphs, and this sitting.  Should go for a drive, but then no… act like you care, stay in the chair, like I said to 1B class.

Sign for birthday party, the Cheers to 40 Years, Mike! chalkboard reading, staring back at me and saying something like “Don’t you fucking dare get up from the couch.  Don’t. You. Dare.  So I don’t.  Definitely feeling like a student, in either 1A or B.  Reading and noting everything in journal, consolidating efforts and having a book halfway through term, if possible.  I can’t wait till Week 18 or 19.  Didn’t count how many this semester.  Told self before starting this sitting and paragraph cascade that writing sessions, the sitting itself, the scene, should be simple.  No clutter, no excess, no chords or wired, extra devices.  Luckily I charged this thing last night or night before so that’s not a concern. Drive through vineyards, something… what… what do I do with this day off that I will never get back if I squander it grieving or complaining, acknowledging what lacks.  Wondering if I should go to Aroma Roasters, do some writing there–  Writing is about the moment you’re in, like I told Petya yesterday at the winery when she told me that she wants to speak better, or more confidently, conscious of her Bulgarian accent.  I offered the idea, as I do every semester, that if you want to empower as a speaker, you should read, write, A LOT.  Not sure if she took what I forwarded into her thinking frame and throws, but I was honest. Now this morning I find myself following the same counsel.  Not writing about wine, but writing.  The movement…

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mikemadigan

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